The Muteness of Martin aka Push
by Saraa Luna
Summary: Redwall has problems. Their current champion is immature in all ways possible, for one. But when a group of desperate woodlanders and vermin arrive and bring Hellgates to the abbey doors, the Redwallers realize there's a tragedy set in motion that will leave nobeast unscathed... even with the sacrifices made to stop it.
1. Chapter 1

"I don't think the blackberries were quite ripe, Ruae–"

"Shush yoreself, Makara Brushtail, they were just fine. Now quit yore whinin' an' help an ole otter-widow out."

At the sigh that came from behind the precariously stacked basket of blackberries, the footpaws underneath them trudging along over Redwall's green lawn, a long graying face baring spectacles popped over the top of the next one. Several blackberries came dangerously close to being crushed and smearing across the wilted and twisted whiskers.

"Did I just hear a sigh outta you, Brushtail?"

"I– what? No, Ruae, no," the bushy tail behind the basket protested, realizing too late what she'd done. The paw-woven wicker sides teetered as sharp and tufty red ears tried to push up from behind it, shorter neck of the squirrel unable to crane over the top like the long and graceful neck of the elderly otter. Curling eyelashes fluttered behind it. "I was thinking how much trouble we put all of the poor Sparra birds through with this mess–"

"If I had me cane right now, I'd give yore tail an' shins a wallopin'. Yore a worse liar than Cubert used t' be," Ruae said, otter snorting and lowering her head behind the basket. She was face to face with the innocent-eyed squirrelmaid again, thick spectacles perched on the end of her scarred nose as she critically looked her younger companion over. "Ale 'o pikes teeth, much as I loved him, me husband couldn't tell a tale t' save the skin offa his rudder. I never heard ye refer t' the Sparra as 'poor' afore, neither, less ye were talkin' about their brains bouncin' in their skulls. Save all those dramatics an' eyelash fannin' for the Forest Patrol lads."

There was a pause. Makara slipped on some of the soft dew on the grounds and had to dig her claws in to keep from tumbling down the hill. Ruae slid down it with practiced ease, rudder dragging a path behind her in the grass and marking a dark green line. Tips of leaves tickled at both of their shins. The sunlight was barely above the walls and turrets of Redwall, lighting the entire awakening building with a quiet red glow, and making the smell of untouched and chilly dew drown out the sluggishly uncurling scent of breakfast scones from the kitchen. The distant turret housing the Sparra was even darker, sunlight barely kneading its fingers through the dusty and tiny pockets of Warbeak Loft.

Makara tore her eyes from the attic entrance as Ruae cursed, one leg locking up and making her trip at the bottom of the hill. Her smooth dismount turned into awkward and limping stumble near the end, otter throwing swears of all kind on her arthritis and giving her leg a final shake when they were off the slope, making sure it was working again. The berry basket gave a final menacing tremble before the otter regained her balance again.

"Don't drop all of the hard work, I'm not going to go and ask those featherbrains to help us again," Makara said, tone abruptly changing and innocent look vanishing. "I had to listen to them chatter all morning already." The squirrel sassily jutted out her hip underneath her habit, watching some mice and other Redwallers beginning to carry out chores on the edges of the grounds and rushing from stair archway to archway. She glanced at Ruae's face before subtly trying to check her legs under the folds of the habit, the otter hefting the basket of berries up higher.

"…do you need me to go get Ashtip or Markus to come help, Ruae?" the squiremaid said, voice softening in concern for a moment. Her long and thin claws curled around the basket, points like the edges of sharpened feather shafts.

The otter dismissively gave her leg and tail another shake, using the basket in front of her face to shove her spectacles further up her nose. "Off t' the kitchens, Makara, yore not dumpin' yore load off on some other beast." Ruae ground a webbed foot in the dirt, getting rid of a clingy leaf of grass as one of the giant sandstone arches approached. "I'm fine," she added, dipping her head towards Makara and watching the squirrel with gruffly fond eyes. Realizing what was happening, the otter cleared her throat, straightening her bent back and marching forward.

"An' yore loosin' yore sense, treerat," she barked, becoming sharp-tongued again. "Markus couldn't lift more than a pen if ye stuck his paws t' it, what with those twiggy arms. Ashtip, now, he'd lift it, but the bloody fellow doesn't have a lick 'o balance in his body. He'd go head over tail like a floppin' fish. If ye want somethin' done right, handle it yoreself."

Makara laughed, drawing the curious heads of two awakening cellarhogs, whom both had just peeked their noses out of the dark ale room after hours of sampling. They were blinking furiously, light and good balance foreign objects for the moment. "That still didn't stop you from making the Sparra pick the bushes clean, now did it?"

"They were only helpers afore we skinned our paws bare on those thorns," Ruae said, nonplussed by her accusation. The two finally reached the entrance to the abbey, claws lightly clicking against the stone floor and edges of their habits brushing against it. Groups of mice, squirrels, voles, and other woodlanders were already waking up and heading down the halls, carrying scrolls, quills, and other nut or fruit filled baskets from the orchard. The smell of parchment scrolls and Abbess Petranka's peppers wafted together with the feeling of dew-stroked fur and clothes.

Ruae lifted her head, taking a deep breath and absorbing all the scents of Redwall. The otter looked ready to be lifted off her toes and into the air by pure force of inhaling, eyes closed and spectacles glasses glimmering in the morning light. Makara began humming as they walked down the hall, sending dust blowing across the floor in waves of disturbed motes. The rainbow stained glass windows left glowing patterns of color on the floor for all the morning risers to wade through. Makara could feel her tail warming in the windows of summer light.

She was halfway through the second verse of her squirrel lullaby when she stopped, humming tone dying miserably in her throat.

"…oh, no."

Ruae pulled her head down from the air, done with twitching her whiskers and taking in the morning. "What are ye harpin' about now– ah." The elderly otter's mouth tilted into a frown, she firmly grinding her teeth together as they passed by the tapestry. She seemed to be working over sour words in her mouth, not sure of which ones to spit out with any of the younger group now awakening and scampering around the great hall. "Salamander slime," she said finally, done with grinding her fangs together as Makara sulkily pressed her head against the blackberry basket. "Goin' t' be an eventful day, now isn't it?"

"Not the kind I like," Makara muttered, good mood evaporating. She eyed the aged and faded strings of the tapestry, giant portrait of Martin and intertwining images of the abbey's plenty and founders covering every stitch.

The squirrel was tempted to give the woven image of the mouse an accusing look, but she was quickly reminded as to what her tormentor was when her eyes drifted over to the shining sword he held… of which the real version was missing from the weapon holder above the tapestry. Makara made an annoyed chattering sound, clicking her large teeth together.

"His bigheadedness had to do it on a summer harvest, now didn't he?"

"Now, Makara, some respect," Ruae said, though the otter was looking substantially less friendly and respectful than her words as she gave the weapon holder a withering look. "T' Martin, at least. Poor ole fellow must've been havin' a bad day 'o things when he took a pick for champion out 'o this lot. I'm goin' t' skin Skipper's hind end for lettin' him run off with the sword afore a summer festival; bloody chieftain isn't doin' his job," she grumbled as an afterthought, gripping the blackberry basket tighter and wishing for her cane to be at paw.

Makara blew some exasperated air out of her mouth, squirrel bracing herself and tearing her eyes from the absent weapon and tapestry as they passed by. "Alright, now you're the one being disrespectful, you ancient old otter. And they say 'listen to your elders'…" Makara shook her head, though it was more at the final glance she gave to the tapestry as they left it behind, heading for the kitchens. She turned to Ruae again, trying to take her mind off the sword.

"Also, sounds like you've been hanging around Ashtip again. I haven't heard you throw in that many 'afore's since last winter, when you were beating his haunches out the kitchen door. Since when'd you stop whapping him with your cane on sight?"

"Since when'd ye learn not t' call yore elders 'ancient'?" Ruae shot back, stepping around a scholar mouse as he hurried down the hall, bringing new supplies to the gate house. The dibbuns and late sleepers were beginning to awaken, and writing lessons were soon going to begin after breakfast. "An' no, I don't talk like that skittish piece 'o fur. Not on purpose, a'least. I blame Markus; he made me settle down in the archives with him t' try an' shove some history in that vermin's head." Ruae made a quiet sound akin to a snort or sigh, not looking at the grin on Makara's face the squirrel was struggling to keep hidden. "Guess his wonky accent rubbed off."

Makara was about to reply and head towards the kitchen hall when there was a sudden blur of fur and ears, a wild-eyed hare skidding into the hall in front of them with crushed reading glasses sticking out of his bag and crunched papers bristling in his arms. He paused in front of the two, swinging his head around in a desperate attempt to spot something in the hall, and neatly pulled up his lopsided habit belt. When the young hare noticed them both, he hastily stood up straighter, spindly arms and thin paws trying to tug at his clothes and make them more presentable.

"Good-morning-Miss-Makara-and-Missus-Ruae," he blurted out, chest heaving from the effort of running through the hall and down several flights of stairs. "You– you haven't seen Ortho, have you?"

"G'mornin', Markus," Ruae said, observing the ink quills on the verge of slipping out of his arms. Some Sparra donor was going to be feeling the loss later when it came to restocking. Makara nodded her head at him, already trying to reach into the basket and dig out a pawful of berries for the frazzled hare. "No, we haven't seen a hair on yore brother's head– pardon the pun– though from the looks 'o the sword holder, the tapestry has," she said dryly, jerking her head back towards hall.

Markus followed her movements, and when he caught sight of the absent sword, Makara swore dark circles appeared under his eyes, and the hare almost bolted on the spot. She could practically see the calculations whirring through his head, adding up the amount of time Ortho had been out of bed, how long he must've been eating breakfast, and what it would take to catch him now. The hare gave one more hollow attempt to straighten his habit, crooked ear twitching furiously, failed, and gave up. He nodded at Makara and Ruae, already taking off.

"Thank you Missus Ruae," he said, crushing his papers further as he held them tighter to his chest and lunged down the hall. Markus came to screeching stop as Makara stepped out in front of him, balancing the filled basket on one arm as she extended a paw of berries.

"Markus, from the looks of things, you just barely got through fighting with your habit. There's no way you had breakfast," Makara said, looking over the lopsided sleeves and not fully tied belt tassel. Markus fidgeted in his spot, the very act of staying still hurting him. "If you'd just take something to eat–"

"Thank you, Miss Makara, but I have to go," he said, long hind limbs trembling from the act of holding back. Makara he could see him struggling to keep his eyes on her and Ruae's faces and not mapping out a path through the busy abbey hall. "Ortho's going to need me; I'll eat a tart later. It's fine for now–"

Markus's stomach gave a dismal rumble.

"–goodbye-to-you-and-Missus-Ruae, I-have-to-go-now," he finished, spots of pink appearing on his face from exhilaration and embarrassment, and the hare sped down the hall, a trail of dropped note slips and quills in his wake.

Ruae and Makara stood in their places and watched him go, slipping through the crowd and disappearing. Soon they lost sight of ears above the crowd, one crooked and one straight weaving through the other heads before they were gone. Makara disappointedly lowered her pawful of berries, staring after his departing path. Ruae shoved her spectacles further up her muzzle before shaking her head.

"Some older brother he has," she said, disgust lacing every word.

Makara stood on her tiptoes, vainly trying to see the way Markus had went. "Poor Markus. He's a still a hare; he's not going to get far without something in his stomach." She hopefully craned her head towards Ruae. "You think we could go after him when we put these baskets down and–"

"He's long gone, Makara," Ruae said, already shifting her grip on the basket and walking towards the kitchen with a new energy. She sensed the squirrel hesitating before she even turned around. "Even if he's empty-bellied, he's a hare with a fire lit under his tail. Yore not goin' t' catch him without a set 'o wings, now."

Makara finally turned away from the hall, opening her paw and dropping the cluster of blackberries back inside the basket. She slowly picked it up again, trudging after Ruae with a worried expression on her face.

"He was going after those stairs pretty quick; I hope he didn't hit them at that speed," she said, claws twitching and tapping on the wicker basket as her ears tilted back with worry. Makara's tail unconsciously began to bristle and wind itself around her waist. Then her thoughts went elsewhere, and her face turned resentful. Her soft tail yanked away from her petite waist, bristling in anger like so many sharp red needles.

"Ortho," she spat, venom that could've soured the blackberries in her voice. Makara bit the edge of her lip to keep herself from becoming too loud, lashes fluttering as she lowered her gaze to the ground. "Martin's only mistake," she muttered under her breath.

Ruae gave her a sharp look, scold that appeared on the otter's lips disappearing in the upcoming and clattering noise of the kitchen. Steam and the sounds of knives hitting chopping blocks drifted outside the door, fruit and vegetables being freed from their peeling in bright spirals before they were cut into slices. There was the soft thud and gurgle of pie filling being spooned into shells and the smell of browning pastry crust. Soup pots gurgled and sloshed with water, shrimp being poured in and spice cans being gathered. Otters were already quarreling about who should possess the hotroot jar, smacking at each other with wooden spoons before they went back to stirring. Floor space was hustled and shared by all, flour footprints marking the most common paths.

Makara quickly forgot her worries as she and Ruae wove between the busied counters where knives flashed over scarred cutting boards and dough was being flopped out over flour dusted surfaces. Mice, otters, and moles dominated the area in a frenzy of movement, a shrew here and there arguing with their much taller companions as webbed paws were dipped into candied nut bowls before being smacked and forced out. A team of moles attacked a deeper 'n' ever pie as they would the architecture plans of a small castle, mixing the potatoes and greens between gruff chortles and indefinable bursts of mole speech.

Throughout the mess, Makara spotted a few of the rare vermin residents of Redwall at work as she and Ruae delivered the blackberries to the scone table, Ruae beginning to banter with the mouse in charge. Makara watched the kitchen beasts at work— including the weasel feeding the oven fire and grey fox kneading bread among them— her arms aching with relief after she sat the huge basket down on the counter. Above all the kitchen din, Friar Tribble was a force of nature with his soup ladle, repelling otters and sneaky dibbuns from all sides with mighty whacks and swings.

"You there, out of that pudding, it's not done yet– add some salt to that fish, Sister, it got skimmed over– keep your paws off of the candied nuts! All dibbuns, out of the kitchen!– Brother, if you'd put more glaze on that lot of apples there, Kay should have the dumpling covers ready at the scone counte– SKIPPER JALIK, OUT OF THE SCONES! OUT!"

The Friat finally had enough, plump shrew roaring as he chased a brawny otter out of the kitchen amongst cheers and laughter, viciously beating at the taller beast's haunches and tail with his ladle. The Skipper fled with an armful of freshly backed scones, trying to juggle their hot sides in his paws, but his progress was being hampered by the three or four dibbuns hanging off his tail and shoulders. Makara caught sight of sugar-smeared faces and a pudgy paw or two waving goodbye, candied nuts in their grip. A few stray giggles emerged from the hallway as they disappeared from sight.

The squirrelmaid was suddenly caught off balance as something thumped her shoulder, almost tipping her over. She whirled around to find Ruae with a satisfied look on her face, otter having reclaimed her cane from where she'd placed it in the kitchen earlier in the morning. Ruae tapped her on the shoulder again, poking at her habit sleeve.

"Do ye hear me now, ye lash-flutterin' treerat?" she said, lowering her cane against the ground when she had Makara's attention. "We need t' get out 'o the kitchen, unless ye want to be part 'o the work force."

"Well, I'm leaving," Makara said, backing away from the busied stations, "but I'm sure you could stay and beat some bread in with your cane." She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head teasingly. "Know what? Forget the cane; you'd probably be able to knead it just by talking. Your sharp tongue could beat a rock down."

Ruae poked Makara in the belly, hurrying the squirrel out of the kitchen and her way. "I'm a fly eatin' frog if that isn't true," she said, head tilted up with a touch of arrogance. "'course, the only one t' ever be able t' stand my quippin' was Cubert, an' seein' his skull was thicker than a walltop rock, I don't think he'd count. Door's that way, Makara."

Makara made a face at Ruae as the otter nudged her out of the way of a hurrying vole, squirrel slipping through the door. Both of them took an extra breath once outside the kitchen, Makara feeling overwhelmed. She fanned herself once with a habit sleeve before the sense of rushing passed. The kitchen was a hectic place to be during preparation for any festival, and with one on the horizon, this was no exception.

The otter and squirrel headed down the hallway to cooler places once they'd caught their breath, Ruae's cane lightly tapping against the floor with an echo or two. The archive and spare bedroom hallway was empty at this time in the morning, the majority of Redwallers outside arranging tables and trying to get some fruit or vegetable picking done before the sun rose any higher. The first batch of dibbuns were just beginning their writing lessons in the gatehouse, and the next class they'd be traded out for would be filled with stolen scones and pulse-pounding sugars.

"I don't fancy Brother John right about now," Makara said, moving past a half-open storage room door. Unused beds lay neatly made, awaiting any weary travelers or surprise guests. "Especially with the lot of dibbuns he's getting next."

"Mmhm," Ruae hummed.

There was a nearly silent clicking of claws and the sound of a old door creaking from up ahead. Furrowing her brow, Makara could suddenly hear a dull buzzing noise behind the doors. She and Ruae froze in their spots, listening. The otter frowned as Makara began to make out muffled shouts and curses from behind the thick walls.

"What in the blazes–?"

"NOOO!" A strangled scream that was half word, half snarl of surprise burst through the hall, echoing like one of the giant dining tables in the kitchen had been upended, and one of the doors slammed open with enough force to rattle Makara and Ruae's teeth. All Hellgates broke loose.

Snarling, jumping, and clawing, a figure shot out from the open door, leaping and twisting between steps as they tore at their own tail. Metal and rock pattered against the floor in a rattling din. Teeth gnashed and snapped, and Makara could hear the sound of fur ripping and shouts of protest from the room they'd shot out of before she was broken out of her trance.

Ruae lunged for the squirming figure an instant after Makara did, the squirrel hopping around another of the beast's clawing fits. Makara tried to catch his arm, leaping in the air to avoid one of his panicky swipes. One breath leapt in her throat at the way the claws barely missed her, the squirrelmaid's fur tingling.

"Ashtip, STOP IT!" she yelled, her own claws raking against the bigger arms of the victim as she clutched to him, his chest heaving as he tried to stop clawing at himself, flinching and twitching. Ruae was coming after both of them with her cane now, ready to hit if he lashed out at Makara again. "There's nothing there, STOP IT!"

Makara's loud yell echoed through the hall, commanding snap in it making several passers in different halls freeze. The squirrel could hear concerned calls and rushing footsteps coming down their hall now or descending from other connecting staircases, but she didn't care, heart pounding as she felt Ashtip come to shuddering stop beside her. Some garbled not quite words were still sprouting from his mouth, but Ruae was lowering her cane, and Makara could start to understand him.

"–was trying ta s-sleep, spit of _Vulpez_–" Ashtip hissed. Makara could feel his trembles slowly calming underneath her grip. Ruae blinked, noticing something clinging to his strangled bristling tail. The old otter knelt down by the pine marten's haunches, and Makara was forced to let go of his arm as the jittery beast straightened up, long spine making him much taller than her.

"Are you alright?" Makara said, taking a step back to give the marten space as the investigation party from earlier made it down the staircases and hall. She could feel others crowding behind her and a paw tugging at her shoulder.

"Makara, we heard the screaming– you okay?" The squirrelmaid turned to face a concerned dormouse, another squirrel standing behind him with just as much worry written across his features.

"Yes, Ragweed, I'm fine," she said, turning to address the whole crowd. There was another jingle of rock and wood, and Ashtip gave a strangled curse of pain as another set of footsteps began approaching through the door the tortured marten had burst out of. "It had nothing to do with me, Krosah. Something was wrong with Ashtip, that's all."

"Somethin' that's still wrong with him," Ruae said, tugging at the hunched over marten's tail. He winced, claws flexing and jumpy eyes looking in every direction. They never rested on somebeast or something for more than a second, a sick blur of paranoia that Makara had trouble watching. The otter gave a grunt as she pulled the last bit of the string free, grimacing even as she heard somebeast leaning on the thrown open door. "Now who do we give this back t'?"

Makara stared at what she held in paw, Ashtip immediately distancing himself from it and clutching the base of his tail in pain. He looked ready to press himself against the floor like an owl was going to swoop down upon them all.

Ruae poked the twisted strings she held, some of Ashtip's fur sticking out of the tied bunches from where it'd been painfully suckering to his tail. The thing looked like a magpie's nest hanging on a string, a whole collection of pebbles, forks, butter knives, pieces of wood, and stray beads all tied on a rattling conglomeration of twine and junk. Every time Ruae made the slightest movement, they clattered together like a miniature thunderstorm.

Ruae walked towards the open door, strings rattling with every step. The otter held out the wind chime of debris as Ashtip gave the Redwaller standing in the entrance a look of loathing, most of his nerves returning. He stared at the hare with his mismatched eyes, the marten having one a dark hazel and the other a clean mud tan, and the rest of the gathered crowd watched with unsurprised but attentive looks.

Ruae forcibly stuffed the twine into the hare's empty paw.

"Think this is yores, Ortho."

Ortho gave the watching crowd a grin, happy despite the dirty looks or ones of disapproval from his peers. There was only a small hint of guilt to his voice as he swung the clattering strings over his shoulder, lazily brandishing the sword of Martin in his other paw.

"Look, Ruae, all of this isn't my fault, wot," he said, shifting his shoulders in a way that was almost a swagger. The young hare's broad chest was pushed out, dashing face alight with roguish content. "I offered to clip the bally thing off his rear, but he'd taken off before then. Like a bleedin' cork out of a bottle, too!" Ortho added delightedly, brandishing Martin's sword higher. Ruae backed up, face grim and clouded with anger.

"Do that again, an' I'm goin' t' put me cane t' yore rear an' send _ye_ takin' off like a cork out 'o a bleedin' bottle–"

"Ruae, enough," Ragweed said, sounding exhausted. The dormouse had wilted once he'd realized he'd come running down the stairs from his studies for nothing, sleeves still rolled up to prevent ink from smearing against them. "Caning anyone isn't going to solve anything; we'll let the Abbess talk to him again."

Krosah and Ruae looked ready to open their mouths in furious protest, Makara feeling like joining them as she stepped up next to Ruae, but Ortho split into a cocky grin, expertly twirling the sword around his paw.

"Calm yourselves down, wot," he said, sheathing the sword in his belt and lifting his paws up in a mocking surrender. Makara felt like slapping him. "Nobeast got hurt, an' that bloomin' thing's outta the marten chap's tail, so why get all jolly frazzled about things?"

Ashtip gave Ortho another look of hatred, he done with rubbing his tail. Without another word, the skittish marten disappeared through the breaking up crowd and headed for another room, slamming the door behind him. Makara heard him jump at the noise once he was the room and make a scramble for one of the beds. Grumbling Redwallers were breaking up once more, heading back to their errand running and chores.

Krosah headed upstairs with Ragweed again, and soon Makara, Ruae, and Ortho were alone in the hall, Ortho looking completely unabashed or unashamed by the looks of disapproval, annoyance, or anger he'd received. The hare smiled cheekily at the pair, a look that could've been charming if his immaturity wasn't shining through like a worm peeking from an apple.

"Don't know why he didn't take my offer. I wouldn't have chopped off his bleedin' tail, wot! I know what I'm doin' with the sword; it's not like I'm a dibbun or anything. Doncha think?"

Ruae opened her mouth to say something, face still crinkled with rage, but the otter closed her jaws without a word, turning her back to the hare and storming away down the hall with her cane slamming down on the floor and grumbled complaints following her like a toxic stream.

Ortho looked expectantly at Makara. She found herself fighting to keep her tail from prickling further, tempted to use an insult or two she'd picked up from Ruae. Then she remembered Markus's panicking and hurried face, rushing after his older brother like it was the most important thing in the world.

"Oh, go somewhere where they need you, _champion_," she hissed, forcing out a stilted version of the politest thing she could think of through the red haze surrounding her mind. Ortho casually leaned on the open door, tipping an ear to her in a mock military salute.

"Yes, sah. On the double, sah."

The hare watched Makara stomp down the hall and quickly catch up to Ruae, both of their backs rigid as they began a hushed conference, fur on their backs still bristling. He nonchalantly kept looking after their backs until they left, his arms crossed. Once they were gone, the hare began whistling a cheery tune and twirling the sword of Martin in his paws.

Ortho watched the way the light glimmered off the famed blade in amusement as he walked down the hall in the opposite direction, the pile of strings and junk clattering against the victorious back of the Champion of Redwall.


	2. Chapter 2

The upper rooms and dormitories of Redwall were either lit by sturdy wood and metal made torches that clung to the outside hall in innumerable number, or the soft glow of beeswax candles placed in cups or plates to catch their drippings from late night writings. In the day, the recorder and scholars alike could be found out on the grounds, leaning against the bases of orchard trees, or inside one of the windowed rooms, the glowing colors of stained glass pouring down over their paper and scribbling quills.

At that moment Markus couldn't have cared less about the shades of colored glass. In fact, he was half-wishing that one of the otters or squirrels would mess up during sling practice and shatter the distracting window like a smashed fruit.

The hare rubbed his eyes for the umpteenth time, elbow on his desk wrinkling one of the papers he'd so painstakingly straightened out after the morning rush. He automatically reached out with his other paw and shoved down on it again, not bothering to look at the wrinkles he was squashing. When Markus pulled his paw from his face again, stretching his skin, he was greeted with the sight of the rolls of scrolls, cracked inkwells, stray pens, and stacks of documents.

A pile of the carefully smoothed papers sat to the left, each sheet still looking like a rumpled accordion despite the devotion spent on them. The meticulously written math formulas and tips Brother John had composed resembled a nest of garbled nonsense and lines now, and Markus's neat answers in the spaces underneath looked just as wayward and squashed. Brother John wouldn't be pleased, not to mention that all the sheets were due in the evening… and they were only the tip of the paper sea that engulfed his desk and swallowed him up, boxing the hare in on all sides.

Markus gave one look to his disorderly scholar assignment and all the rest of the plans before he gave a quiet sigh, slumping in his chair. He put the quill in paw down on the empty space he could find before the familiar throbbing ache that came with a maelstrom of writing started up. No use in bringing it closer, not when he was this distracted. Markus heard a familiar joyful shout through the colorful little window, reverberating off the high sandstone walls, and the hare closed his eyes before he got the temptation to look out the glass. Why had he sat near a clear view of the open grounds and edges of the orchard again?

There was a soft creaking noise, and the aged door to the room opened. Markus started, sitting upright up in his chair and grabbing his quill before he turned around. When he saw the squirrelmaid slipping through the entrance, curiously looking over the dusty rows of archive shelves around him with her plumy tail coming in after her, Markus relaxed. The quill and his ramrod straight ears drooped, crooked one falling to the side again.

"Hello, Miss Makara."

"Hello, Markus," the squirrel said. She pulled the door shut, it closing with a click. Makara walked down the middle of the room, apprehensively raising an eyebrow at the decrepit state of the shelves around them. "Little dusty for working in, isn't it?"

Markus chuckled at the expression on her face, turning to lean one arm over his chair's wooden back. "Not at all, Miss. It's just an accustomed taste, as I've been told." He watched Makara poke the spine of one of the more ancient and weathered books on the shelves, binding sagging and looking ready to burst apart in a flurry of dry paper snow. "Why'd you come inside?"

"Because somebeast else went berry-picking with Ruae," Makara said, leaning back from the book as a puff of dust escaped its cover. Markus could see her clearer in the window light than his own clothes, she having exchanged her dark green habit for a perky summer dress and half-apron. The pale pink showed up in the sunlight like a ray of sun hitting an open morning glory's petals.

Markus gave a tiny whistle. "Escaping berry-picking with Missus Ruae. That's impossible, Miss. How'd you do it?"

Makara gave an offhand shrug, nose wrinkling at some of the dusty and thread filaments that were floating around the room. "Well, I just worked my tail off to convince somebeast else to do it for me. Krosah, actually. He and Ruae are probably waist deep in thorns by now."

"If it was Mister Krosah, _you_ probably didn't have to do much," Markus said, poking the top of his chair with a dry quill point. He grinned sheepishly and shrank down with pulled back ears when Makara turned on him, looking at the hare with a fierce glare worthy of Ruae. "Sorry, Miss Makara. But it's a little obvious to everyone else."

"It's Makara, not _Miss_ Makara," she said, coming closer to the desk as Markus sat up again. "And just Ruae, not _Missus._ You're not in some Salamandastron etiquette class again; you don't have to be so formal."

Markus brushed his fingers against the feather of his quill, turning around as Makara approached the desk and daintily leaned her paws on the clear edge, looking over his stacks of paper. "Sorry, Mi– Makara," he hastily corrected. "But old lessons are difficult to forget."

Instead of replying, Makara frowned, picking up the top paper on one of the massive stacks and holding it up in her paws. Markus's neat paw script flowed over the page, one carefully chosen and even more carefully written word after another forming a single paragraph.

"'Since the beginning of the Summer of the Dried Ivy, and the hard work put in to all of our beautiful orchards, I'd like to thank every Redwaller'…" Her frown deepened, Markus's face still bordering on blank as he processed what she was reading. "Wait a minute, isn't the summer harvest speech the responsibility of the champi–"

"Thank you for the beautiful reading, Miss Makara," Markus said, abruptly looking uncomfortable and hurried as he snatched the paper out of her paws. Makara swiftly tried to grab it back, but to no avail, the hare moving faster as he seized and stuffed the entire heap into his nearby satchel. Papers bristled and flew through the air like Markus was shoving a molting Sparra into his bag.

"I'm sorry about the whole mess," Markus blurted out, not meeting her eyes as he crammed the papers down, "but that was part of my history lesson, and–"

"What's this?"

Markus blinked in surprised, looking up too late as Makara agilely plucked one fluttering paper out of the air. The squirrelmaid danced a step back from the hare's reaching paw as she read, Makara ignoring his suddenly wide eyes and fluffing fur.

"'Guosim chief Bolo's group sits next to Skipper Jalik's crew; at least two tables required to hold the combined group. Salamandastron representative's name is Cutworth McPher if he arrives; don't inquire otherwise'…"

"That's just math calculations," Markus protested, almost squeaking. The squirrel gave a jolt of surprise as Markus lunged and tore the paper out of Makara's grip. She was suddenly looking straight at the pink blotches covering his cheeks, thin paws crunching the paper underneath them and holding it to Markus's chest like it was a shield. "I'm into higher math now with Brother John, Miss Makara, and he wanted me to make up a problem for him, so I decided to use everybeast coming to the summer festival, Miss, because you know how he is about his math problems, and I was just listing the guests first–"

The hare looked everywhere but Makara's eyes as he jammed the paper into his bag. Makara could hear the crunching and wrinkling of once crisp paper and what sounded like the snapping of a quill. Markus froze at the sound, looking almost hysterical as his ears shot up and he bent his head to look in the bag.

"…oh," he said, voice small as he stared down the crushed documents, Makara frozen with uncertainty where she stood. "I… I think I have a lot of folding to do, Miss Makara."

"It's _Makara_," Makara said firmly, finally breaking out of her pause and reaching for Markus's bag. She didn't look at the fading flush vanishing from his face, gently prying his grip from the bag and setting it to the floor, holding the hare's paw to keep him from reaching for it. The squirrel grabbed Markus's other paw as she let the bag loose, stopping it as it weakly reached for the satchel strap.

"Markus, come outside," she urged, now refusing to take her determined gaze from his face. The hare couldn't retreat from her, looking up with no longer widened eyes and finding no surrender in the feisty and determined set of her jaw and pushed back ears. "There's a game of tag going on with everybeast; you outran Ragweed and hit Skipper last time like you were a passing storm. C'mon, you know you love it," Makara said, squeezing tighter and starting to pull him back towards the door. Markus dug his feet in.

"M–"

"If you're about to say 'Miss,' then _don't_," Makara said fiercely. Markus recoiled for a moment, only to dig his footpaws into the floor again as she gave another tug, almost jerking him forward. She had a grip like iron, and those climbing claws held on with the strength of a badgerlord.

"Makara, why are you trying to drag me outside when I have work to do?" Markus said, almost being pulled off balance. He slid across the floor an inch before his paws found a purchase on the dusty ground again, all the aged books seeming to play spectator to the scene unfolding in their rows.

"Why are you inside to start with and skipping a game of tag to do work that isn't yours?" Makara shot back. Markus had no reply, avoiding her eyes again and looking at the worn-down floor. All he accomplished was to give Makara further determination to pull him out the door, she giving his skinny frame a big jerk of effort. He may have been a hare, but his fragile limbs held none of the strength those of his robust older brother did, and his chest wasn't as barrel-like and sturdy.

"I– Miss Makara, I have work," Markus finally said, yanking back. Makara's claws slid over his sleek fur, and she inwardly cursed as the slippery and slender paws pulled out of her grip as easily as greased satin.

Markus backed up before she could grab him, fixedly jamming himself back down into the chair and picking up the quill. Makara looked on in frustration, fingers twitching as she held back the urge to grab him again. The squirrel maid leaned forward, paws extended. Maybe on the second try…

"Makara," Markus said quietly, and something in her heart just stopped at the young hare staring down at an envelope he'd pulled in front of himself, looking oddly childish and lost among his collection of papers. Then something within him seemed to age, and his eyes looked tired, paw awkwardly fiddling with the envelope seal.

"I have a lot of things to do. I can't go outside. But…" He hesitated. "I think Ashtip's still hiding in the hall somewhere after this morning, and he's still a little jittery, so… if… if you could get him to go out and play tag or something, I think he'd feel better."

Markus shyly lifted his eyes to Makara's again, clenching his quill harder and forcing bravery up into his chest to not look away.

"…please?"

Makara had looked ready to object before, tail beginning its familiar looping near her waist, but it had ceased the instant he'd looked up. The squirrelmaid ground her teeth together for a moment, claw almost ripping into her half-apron as she clenched her paws where they were resting on her dress, and then it was over. Makara looked like her sassy self again, any clenching or flashes of anger on face about something gone.

"Yeah," she said, looking out the window in front of them as she heard a shriek of joy come from the outside. Multicolored figures danced on the grounds, a purple otter being pursued by a yellow mouse before they ran towards the orchard, both crossing into another glass pane and becoming green. "I'll find Ashtip and do that; the skittery wreck needs something to do besides sulking around the archives." She gave a small snort of amusement. "I don't think he even reads."

Markus began to dig the tip of his quill underneath the envelope flap as turned to Makara again, not even glancing at the window. At her answer, he smiled, ears and short tail perking up with joy. "You will? Great! I think he's somewhere in the third or fourth room, or maybe taking a nap in the spare dormitories. If he is, you might now want to wake him, though," Markus said, looking concerned. "He might roll off the bed or bite you."

"I don't have Ruae's cane, but he's going to get a smack if he tries either," Makara said. She gave Markus's shoulder a squeeze before heading to the door, now only her head peeking into the room of decaying books and ancient shelves. "That pine marten's older than both of our seasons put together; we can't always wake him like he's a shy little mole dibbun. Ashtip had better not do anything. He owes me from yesterday," she grumbled.

Makara paused in her threats towards the absent beast, looking up at the busily scribbling Markus again. "Bye, Markus."

"Bye, M– Makara."

Markus heard a sound of exasperation as the door closed.

Hiding a small smile and giving his face another rub, he sat up taller at the chair, reenergized. As Makara's footsteps faded down the hall, squirrel beginning her search for the wayward Ashtip, Markus did his best to get comfortable in the hard wooden chair and pulled the letter from its battered envelope. He eagerly unfolded it, knowing what was coming thanks to the small 'S' insignia stamped on the back corner of the now empty envelope.

_Dear Markus,_

_How are preparations going at Redwall? Things must be heating up over yonder, especially with a feast upcoming. I heard all about the upcoming summer harvest festival from you and your older brother in your last two letters, though I'd have to say I could only read half of Ortho's. Your brother needs to 'work on his bally pawscript', as your father put it. _

_But that's of little importance for now. Salamandastron might have good food for a legion of tuckered hares or three, but Redwall Abbey is unrivaled in taste, as you two have probably found out by now. (I certainly hope you have!) I think you made your father hungry in your last few letters– he went down to the kitchens for an hour or so, muttering under his breath about campaign food the whole time. The Abbey spoiled his belly and tongue rotten the last time we were there; I think he's especially eager to return again to their soft beds and kitchens. Not that I'm not. Time has flown so fast since we last saw you two at the Abbey… I bet you've grown like a weed, but I'll just have to keep making guesses._

_Unfortunately, as you may have gathered from the last sentence, your father and I have to take back what we said about us paying you two a visit for the festival. He was just sent on a campaign a week ago to take care of some corsairs on the mountain's northern coast– which is why there' s no letter from him this time– and I'm going to follow shortly afterwards. The blinkers are proving harder to take care of than Lord Dumick anticipated, but we'll get them before too long. There's no patrol like a long patrol when it comes to taking care of vermin! _

_While you're telling others about your letter, though, I don't suggest you pass that quote along to your… friend… Ashtip. He sounds quite… interesting. Your father and I regret not meeting him or the Abbey fox the last time we visited, though we got an eyeful of that weasel. What was his name? Dipper? He seemed like a decent fellow– as decent as a reformed vermin can be– and while the Abbess welcomed him with open arms, it never hurts to keep your eyes open._

_As for Abbess Petranka, I heard about the speech your brother got from her in both of your last letters, even if I think Ortho's view was a little skewed on what she meant. Your father was furious enough to consider marching up to Redwall with a lecture on the duties of a champion in one paw and a battleaxe in the other. I almost joined him with a javelin, but thankfully Lord Dumick stopped both of us at the gates and made us reconsider otherwise. There's no need to try and talk to your brother, Markus; I gave Ortho a good chunk of my opinion in his letter._

_And Markus– considering the things you asked me about last time, I ask you to have faith. Martin's spirit chose your older brother for a reason, even if it isn't totally clear in our eyes right now. He's guided Redwall for the past hundreds of seasons and saw them through enough warlords and sieges to rival even Salamandastron's history; I don't believe he's picked a faulty champion or saw them through poorly once. Ortho just hasn't found his place yet. He has so much potential inside him waiting to get out– as do you, Markus, make no mistake– but your brother's flippant attitude is just dampening things and holding his capability back._

_All he needs is a push in the right direction to set it free._

_With love, _

_your mother,_

_Tulia M. Sagebrush II_

_P.S. Your father sends his greetings and love to both of you._

Running his paws over the beaten paper and soaking in every word of his mother's flourishing pawscript, Markus could imagine her sitting at one of the rough mess tables of Salamandastron, chatting away about the new mission and eating scones with her patrol mates as she wrote her letter. He didn't dare to try and smooth out the crease lines in the paper where it had been folded to fit in the envelope, holding both it and the letter tight. Markus had to admit his mother's and father's letters scared him that way; he could never get over the fact that they'd been dragged, flown, and carried over miles of Mossflower forest and beach to get to him and Ortho.

In comparison, his brother had once used a whole stack of their old letters– envelopes and all– as a coaster for a tankard of blackberry ale. Markus still cringed at the memory, the mere thought of it driving him to hold his mother's letter closer. Paper and ink was so fragile; so important. Histories, math problems, and ink-whispered distant words from loved ones crawled over it and said things that could sometimes never be said out loud. Funny that he'd just ruined a whole stack of it to keep Miss Makara from reading more, Markus thought, slowly cringing as he looked down at his bag. She hadn't been convinced, either.

Markus paused in his shuddering at the bag, going oddly quiet and still for a moment. Outside, there were a few more yelps and yells of joy, and a thickly accented voice had joined the fray. The hare didn't try to look out the window to see the energetic abbeybeasts darting across the grass or tackling each other, his paws tightening down where they were at the bottom of the letter. The rest of the paper slumped backwards. He didn't straighten it.

Looking down, Markus reread his mother's last paragraph over and over, studying every single blur of ink and penned down word. His lips were motionless, only his eyes going back and forth across the paper, and his whole frame slumped before tensing in the chair. After the third rereading, Markus stopped.

Indecision and frustration making his ears tilt back and feet press against the floor– trying to ground himself– Markus pushed one of the paper stacks over an inch and flattened the letter across the desk. The hare shoved his paws down on one section, staring at the words.

_All he needs is a push in the right direction to set it free._

Markus read it again before his face softened in a kind of tired knowledge. Most of his tenseness vanished, hare now just in a little slump with his whiskers almost brushing the paper.

_Push._

How many speeches and pushes had Abbess Petranka and their parents tried to give Ortho? Markus had to press one of his claws underneath the word, staring at it like it was one of Brother John's complex math problems he was trying to solve mentally. Those four letters looked like they had more meaning and complexity than one of Martin's riddles. It was a riddle itself that Ortho had been marked champion by one of Martin's signature dreams, Markus thought. He could feel something twisting inside him as he looked at the flourished letters of his mother's writing, the 'p' curving at the bottom like a cursive 'f'. So different from his father's script.

Only he was able to make the comparison now, though, Markus thought, something inside sinking as he studied the swooping letters. Ever since the first incident with the Abbess and the sword, the first major misguided use of Martin's legacy, Ortho had stopped writing to their father. Or rather, their father had stopped writing to him, not that Ortho had tried to take up correspondence again, Markus thought.

His letters to their mother were still there– late, sloppy, but there, ran out to the courier at the last minute. It'd been the same way with their father until the first angry letter had come. An hour after getting the mail from one of the Sparra couriers, Ortho had marched over to Markus's bed and smiled twistedly at him before he handed over what seemed to be a four page pamphlet. Markus hadn't believed it was from Salamandastron until he'd saw that familiar wax stamp on the back.

Markus had to keep from lifting his legs up onto the edge of his chair and curling into a loose ball at the memory. The letter had been vicious. Every word reeked of rage, their father going on and on with hot, shame and fury-filled words about how Ortho was disgracing them; about how he was mistreating the rights of a champion to play own games, and what the bally Hellgates was he _thinking?_ The Abbess and Skipper shouldn't have to watch the chosen like a spoiled dibbun, shouldn't have to reproach a Salamandastronian hare that had the blood of thousands of brave heroes running through it, shouldn't have to wince at addressing the son of an old friend.

Ortho had given an unusually loud laugh at his brother's horrified face, ruffling the combed fur on his head before taking the letter from him.

"_He's got his fur in a bleedin' twist, wot?"_ Ortho had given Markus a misplaced grin, something tilting on his face that didn't seem as roguish and carefree as before. _"You'd think bally Vulpez had him by the whiskers." _Ortho had learned the 'vermin' name for the devil from Farflit half a season back. He'd never stopped using it since. Markus remembered the usually casual swear sounding filled with forced, stretched joy at the time.

His younger brother had reached out with disbelief, mouth slowly opening in the second stage of shock and horror. _"Ortho, you– oh Vulpez, FATHER–"_ Markus remembered speaking the word because there was nothing else he could get out, even though it left a sour taste hanging in his mouth. _Vulpez. _Such a rough name. Especially when it was spat out by Ortho in that flippant way of his.

His paw sitting on the letter began to gradually clench, curling up in a fist underneath the word. _Push._ Just like before, whenever Ortho did something to anger their parents or friends for amusement, he'd said nothing. He had let it all fly by, because it wasn't a math problem he could choke out an answer to within a minute. Markus scrunched his eyes shut, suddenly trying to hold back the temptation to look out on the game of tag.

"_Don't tell me your whiskers are gettin' twisted too!" _Ortho had said, catching the look on his brother's face. He'd stuffed the papers back in the envelope like they were scribbled drawings not worth keeping before he threw on the nearby desk. It'd almost slid off. _"Now keep those jolly old nerves of yours down, Markus, an' calm your bobbin' tail. Father'll stop his steaming in a week or so, you watch." _Ortho had snickered. It sounded more like he was trying to dislodge something from his throat. _"Bet mother barely managed to keep him from blowin' out a vein while writin' that, wot?"_

The next time the postage arrived, there were only three letters instead of four. The two brothers received letters from their mother. Markus received one from father. Ortho didn't. He'd written a short one back anyway, teeth bared in a smile when he did. There was no reply. The two had been carrying an icy silence through the flow of postage ever since.

Markus wondered how long it could go on, them not talking. It wasn't like their rooms in Salamandastron, where their glaring mother and limited space only let pursed lips and silence go on for three days at most whenever Ortho sabotaged a dessert or drenched a sergeant in salt water. Here, at Redwall, they were separated from their parents by leagues and leagues of forest and river. Talking could hardly be forced.

_All he needs is a push._

Markus gave a sigh, through with the letter. He folded it back up and shoved it into the envelope once more, retouching every crease. If it hadn't been for all the wild scroll tossing and paper crushing earlier, he thought, Miss Makara would've probably considered him a 'stiff whisker an' tail ironer.' Or whatever her equivalent of Ortho's phrase was. The hare pushed the envelope away, reaching for the unfinished summer festival speech. He might as well get working on it.

In moan of ancient wood and hinges, the archive door was shoved open and slammed shut. Markus sat up with a bolt of surprise, fur on end with an unsaid yelp as a waft of air came shooting through the room. Dust flew in the same way snowflakes did when a badgerlord plowed into a snowdrift.

Markus knew who it was before he even turned around.

"Well, now what's my bobtailed brother doin' cooped up on a day like this, wot?"

"Ortho, please," he said, knowing what was coming as he watched his brother saunter up towards his desk, lazily eying the book shelves and ancient history before he decided they weren't worth looking at. "I have to do some work today."

"You _always _do bleedin' work, not just today," Ortho said, coming to stop beside Markus and crossing his arms. "An' that's what you always say too, wot." At least he wasn't wearing the champion's sword anymore, it probably having been confiscated by Skipper once more. His younger brother hunkered down a little further on his chair, gripping the seat. "What're you findin' so important in here?"

"Math problems. Work."

"That's a bally lie; neither of those are interestin'."

"They are to me."

The side of Ortho's mouth twitched in what could be considered an obnoxious but knowing smirk to others. "Liar. You're shiftin' in your seat like a worm one of those featherball Sparra chaps are always jabberin' about."

"Shouldn't you be having a talk with the Abbess?" Markus said, trying to steer Ortho away from the topic of going outside, or anything that could lead to it. The cheers from the tag game on the lawn seem magnified.

Ortho waved his question off with a flick of his paw, leaning nonchalantly back on his heels. He lounged on the air where he stood, a nearly impossible something Markus found only his brother could do. The thick jaw and roughened big paws that were usually being worked or clenched in stress or anger in their father's features remained uncaring on Ortho. He'd inherited his looks and fighting skill out of him. Not much else.

"No," Ortho said, looking over the papers on Markus's desk for less than three seconds before his attention wandered back to his brother. "The lovely old Abbess decided to leave me an' my poor ears be for now, wot. Probably my charmin' good lucks that got me out of it." Tired of relaxing where he stood, Ortho took a step back and leaned on one of the old bookshelves. Ancient scrolls gave a wheezing protest.

Markus firmly settled down in his seat again the same way he had against Makara, pressing his claws into the wooden underside in determination to remain put. "I suppose it was," he said, knowing that comment meant Ortho had skipped out on her completely. Ortho broke out in a small grin at hearing the disbelieving tone in his brother's voice. Markus felt something grow inflamed inside as it reminded him of what he'd heard earlier.

"Ortho, you should talk to her. Tying that– thing to Ashtip's tail; what were you _thinking?_" Markus snapped, a hint of unpleasantness emerging as he rose off the chair further. "You know how bleedin' nervous he is, leave him alone!" Ortho watched as his brother was forced a margin off his chair by his aggression, grin just widening.

"Now _there's _my little brother!" he said triumphantly, shoving himself off the bookshelf with a gleam in eyes to match the now sulky expression in Markus's. "The leveret who's actually got a bit of bally bite to his voice instead of pinnin' 'Miss', 'Missus', 'o 'Mister' to everything like a blinkin' rabbit." Ortho imitated a high pitched and obnoxious voice when he spoke of Miss, Missus, or Mister, tilting his head to go along with the act. He looked eagerly back at Markus when finished. "Thought after hours of that blinkin' manners class back home, an' hangin' around these stiff an' whisker combin' abbeybeasts an' their piles of books, that you'd lost it."

By the end of Ortho's words, Markus had already lowered himself down on the chair again, ears hanging back in a kind of reminded shame brought back by his sibling's outburst.

"They're not stiff, Ortho," he muttered, trying to make up for the slip as he grabbed the summer festival speech and held it close, businesslike. "Just polite, though Miss Makara–"

"An' there you are, callin' everyone bloody 'Miss' or 'Mister' again," Ortho said, cutting off with a wrinkle of disgust of his nose. "This isn't the infernal Long Patrol, wot, an' why is it that you only call that bugged-eyed weasel by his first name instead of everyone else?"

"_Pine marten,_" Markus corrected, a bit of irritated hiss to his words as he impulsively straightened up a stack of papers nearby, still holding the summer speech in the other. Hearing himself and feeling his crooked ear quivering, he took a quiet breath and forced himself into a prim and neat posture again.

"Same thing; Dipper's just got a jolly bit more of bite," Ortho said dismissively, not batting an eye. He finally moved away from the bookcase and approached his brother, laying a paw on top of the work pile as Markus scribbled at things on his paper. The hare had to admit that most of it was distracting gibberish, trying to look at the expression slowly spreading across his brother's face.

"…Ortho, I have work," he said flatly, feeling his brother shifting even closer and not moving, even after a long minute of silence in the colored window pane light and dust motes.

Ortho grinned devilishly.

"I know."

In one swift movement, the older hare darted forward before his brother could grab the chair again, lifting him completely out of it. A quill clattered to the floor, piece of paper still waving in his paw.

"Ortho, put me down!" Markus yelled, struggling to get out of his brother's arms and get a grip on something, anything, to help lever himself out. He was met with absolute futility, Ortho guessing his actions a few seconds earlier and backing away from a shelf or windowsill. Unlike Miss Makara, he was _strong._ Training-toughened and youthful arms held Markus pinned to his brother's broad chest and refused to let him squirm out.

"Like the bally front teeth of Vulpez I am!" Ortho retorted, holding his struggling younger brother the way a mother would cradle a sleeping cub, albeit with more trapped squirming limbs and kicking. He began to march towards the door.

"No!" Markus said, still fighting to get out. He attempted to blindside his brother by hitting him on the head with the paper he held, but immediately stopped when he saw it folding, arms twitching in restraint. Ortho's skull would _destroy_ that paper. "Ortho– I really– really have work, what about my math assignme–"

"Don't bally care." Ortho crushed his brother against his chest a little harder, looking down with accusing eyes at the pined hare. Markus was still weakly struggling like an overturned beetle. "You've been bloody miserable with all your studyin', an' I'm not lettin' you rot up here with all these scrolls. What on stinkin' Mossflower would make you give up three games of tag in a row, wot? It's the one thing I've seen you get excited about; by the look on your face when it starts, you'd jolly well think there's a feast comin'. Disappointed me more than once when I went to check the kitchens, wot."

Markus's bottom lip was slightly furrowed as he bit it with the edge of his teeth, eyes darting down to the paper he held in paw. He said nothing in reply.

Seeing Markus's lack of protest, Ortho took advantage of the situation and made it further towards the door, purposely kicking up dust Miss Makara had barely touched with her petite footprints. When he noticed Markus still holding a paper and silently reading it, face almost expressionless and still quiet, he took action.

Markus was staring at the final line of the summer speech so far as the paper was torn out of his paws. He blinked in shock before he realized Ortho had him locked down with one arm, holding the speech far above his head.

"No, give that back!" Markus squeaked, suddenly terrified of the look Ortho was giving the paper. Was he reading it? Was he about to fold it into a paper kite and send it flying across the room or crashing into a shelf? Oh, Abbess, he hoped Ortho wasn't doing either–

Hearing the high-pitched concern in his brother's voice and seeing the sudden look of worry at the document in his raised paws, not to mention the renewed struggle, Ortho gave the paper a look of disdain. He promptly dropped it, Markus's rapid movements and the stirred air sending it curving through the air and drifting towards the floor. It rolled over, top jamming underneath one of Markus's chair legs and coming to a stop as the hare visibly cringed.

Ortho immediately tightened the grip around his brother again just in time to prevent him making a dive for the desk. Markus was jerked back against his older sibling's chest with a dull thud, breath shoved out of him as his stomach met one of Ortho's solid arms. As Markus sucked in a short breath in Ortho's grip, forced to relax, Ortho promptly began going for the doorknob again.

"But…" he protested, giving a dull wheeze and feebly trying to swat at his desk again. "The summer festival… is only two days away… and you have… your speech… and I have… so much work…"

Ortho looked down at his brother with pitying eyes, giving him a rough pat on the head as he opened the door. "An' what would the problem with that be? You're comin' out an' playin' tag, Markus, no bloomin' complaints. Champion's orders."

Markus gave one futile grab at his vanishing desk before Ortho stepped through the door, carrying them out and shutting it behind them. There was a brief pause as Ortho hummed happily, the sound of footsteps padding down the empty hall.

"…you're not going to let me down until we reach the grounds, are you?" Markus asked, something in his voice deflating.

Ortho chuckled, laugh muffled by the door. "Not a bally chance."

Markus sighed, settling lower in his brother's arms with an exasperated and familiar attempt to get comfortable, knowing the trip that lay ahead.

"You don't ever play fair," he said, a sulky but worn-out tone to his voice before he became completely inaudible, almost at the staircase.

Ortho gave another soft laugh at his brother, voices quietly echoing as the two started down the stairs, only one set of audible footsteps beginning to descend.

"Never will."


	3. Chapter 3

"A little more to the left… Skipper, Farflit, if both of you would take a step back… Rillford, stop making faces and move your foot… yes!" The young mousemaid clapped her paws in joy as Skipper's crew and a few other assorted helpers finally put down the large table, it touching down on the grass with a grunt of effort from the carriers.

"I'm assumin' that would be the last one, Jessy?" Skipper said, tall otter cracking his knuckles to get out his paws' stiffness and the brief ache from hauling the giant table. Around him, many of the crew did the same, long backs being stretched and whiskery muzzles twitched. A few of the more energetic did a somersault or cartwheel over the grass, rudders swinging through the air. "Don't be gettin' t' ahead of yoreself— we need somethin' t' eat on before the feast kicks off tomorrow!"

Jessy gave a short laugh and rolled her eyes at her companion, playfully shoving his arm. The giant and thick glasses perched on her muzzle magnified her brown eyes, turning them into flecked pools of easily-read emotion. "Skipper Jalik," she said, false scandal in her voice and amusement swimming in her eyes, "we all know you'd eat out the entire kitchen if you could, whether there were tables or not!"

Behind the Skipper, Rillford stuck out a tongue at Farflit, the young otter mockingly going into a handstand in front of the scarred fox. Ignoring him, Farflit twisted his head to the right, cracking his neck with a sense of apathy. Rillford grinned. "Wot's the matter? Tongue-tied, fox?"

The Skipper clutched a calloused paw towards his heart, looking mortally wounded. "Jessy, me lass, tis a horrible thing t' say! What do ye think I am, a hare?"

"No, you're an otter, which is just as bad," Jessy said, mouse giving a teasing smile before she turned to survey the layout in front of her. She raised a paw up to adjust her glasses, eyes seeming to grow even larger in the glass.

The flatter grounds of surrounding Redwall's orchard, which had been previously cleared of everything but ruffled grass and laughing dibbuns here and there, were empty no longer. A swarm of activity was bustling throughout the orchard and its surroundings, basket-bearing Redwallers of all size and form balancing, towing, or rolling fruit and vegetables towards the kitchen in whichever way they could.

Habits swirled over the grass, the sea of green brightened by the swish of a summer dress or the flash of an otter's tribal tattoo here and there. The rattling of wheelbarrows and shaking of filled baskets crowded the air with the scent of leaking fruit juice and the musk of different species, and Jessy's large eyes had to dart back and forth at a maddening speed to keep track of where her fellow Redwallers were going, a feat she quickly abandoned with a dizzy shake of her head. Even Ashtip wouldn't be able to keep watch of the river of movement ongoing across the grounds.

Closer by, and almost in the outer shade of the orchard trees and gardens, four immense tables sat in a clumsily line, including the one that the otter crew had just finished hauling out from the dining room. Their stretches were well deserved. They and all the volunteers had carried each dense piece of oak woodwork and construction through the crowded halls and out over the lawns, marching them out towards the orchard, where the summer festival would be taking place the next day.

Of course, Jessy thought, surveying the tables with satisfaction as she folded her habit sleeves together, since the orchard was so busy, they'd have to leave all the tables they'd brought out here for now. It was alright, though. Everybeast would be happy to move them over tomorrow where they should go.

Behind one of the large tables, Farflit was pointedly looking straight through and beyond Rillford as the otter continued his shenanigans, now going cross-eyed as he pretended to stare the grey fox down. Several of the other otters were watching with snickers of amusement as Rillford got closer, blue circle of a tattoo on his upper arm seeming to turn with his movements. Farflit's ragged tail twitched behind him, and something flickered in his neutral line of a mouth.

"Keep makin' faces like that, otter, an' it'll stick," he said, done with stretching as he watched Rillford's mocking with a flat expression, otter now sticking out his tongue with the crossed eyes. A sudden look of dubiousness crossed the fox's face, and the hint of grin pulled up the side of his mouth, revealing a few fang points. His ears casually flicked back. "You might want to do that, though. It might just get yer tribe an' family to realize you actually exist."

Rillford stumbled in his movements, cross-eyed gaze suddenly breaking free. He stared at the unashamed Farflit, who was watching the otter with a subtle look of entertainment on his face. Rillford's face flushed, mouth coming open to say something, but nothing quite coming out. A few of the otters standing around the tables shook their heads, some of the laugh deflating from the air, and a particularly tattooed one in the back winced. The much larger blue circle on his shoulder and arm flinched with him.

Still, a few more otters couldn't help but chuckle or give their heads a little shake at their young crewmate. His family was notoriously forgetful whenever large festivals or events took place, and he'd recently gotten into a sore argument with his uncle over the results of a javelin-throwing contest, leaving the two to ignore each other for the past few days. They practically looked right through each other like they didn't exist, despite being in the same crew. Rillford was still fighting with himself to snap something back at the fox as Jessy and Skipper began to discuss where the tables would eventually be placed.

Seeing the muteness on Rillford's lips and his still partially open mouth, the fox was unable to resist.

"What's the matter?" he said, shoulders and scarred arms hanging relaxed by his sides. "Tongue-tied, otter?"

The older otter near the back tensed up, shoulder muscles bunching and distorting the blue circle over his arm, and one of his crewmates swiftly grabbed his back and muttered something into his ear as Rillford's face flushed more, his own tattoo shifting with the prickle of fur raised in embarrassment. He finally got his mouth shut.

There was the sound of two pairs of footsteps, one feathery and one heavy, and then Farflit was broken out of his unofficial stare-down with Rillford by a light slap on his arm. The fox's eyes momentarily widened in surprise before he turned around, greeted by two deep brown pools of disapproval and glinting glasses at his shoulder.

"Farflit, that's enough of that out of you," Jessy said, giving a huff of displeasure. Behind him, the few tense otters in the back relaxed, sour hint around the crew vanishing as Skipper stepped amongst them again, knuckling shoulders and exchanging playful barks of greeting and command. "Why do you have to be so spiteful sometimes?"

"It's not spiteful, it's true," Farflit said, grey fox looking down at the mouse's much younger face as her paw still rested on his arm. "Doesn't concern me if it's both at the same time, either."

"Farflit!" Jessy gasped, slapping his arm again. He remained unconcerned, not bothering to brush her paw away. It felt like a butterfly had careened off his arm. Nearby, Rillford cleared his throat, chattering of the working Redwallers around letting him regain his senses faster.

"That was a low blow earlier, Farflit," he said, moving to stand near the fox with his paws by his side. Rillford's face had long since stopped flushing, his little sense of shame taking control. Mortification was a foreign emotion for otters.

The grey fox raised an eyebrow at him, scraggly tail giving a jerk that would've been a tail flick if he possessed all his fur.

"You don't load yer dice in a round of gamblin' when yer not expectin' a fight, Rillford," he countered, thin scars across his jawline shifting as he spoke.

Rillford rolled his eyes, muttering something about 'half-baked fox proverbs' just loud enough for him to catch it, and Jessy— who'd managed to navigate herself between the fox and otter— gave him a shove directly in his ribs.

"You're both absolutely terrible," she said, shaking her head as Skipper moved out of the middle of his crew and went to the front of the line of tables to address them. Rillford grinned, and Farflit shrugged a broad shoulder.

"You were expectin' better why?"

The look on Jessy's face made Rillford laugh over Skipper clearing his throat and beginning to talk, otter giving Farflit a hardy slap on the shoulder that would've launched a regular fox two or three feet forward. Being far shorter and sturdier, Farflit barely wavered.

After Skipper paused to give Rillford a look, younger otter going silent after he saw his chieftain's face, he turned around again, addressing his crew once more.

"Alright, now that we're all done with our yappin' an' roughhousin'—"

Rillford gave his watching uncle a sheepish smile.

"—we can get back t' business. Jessy here doesn't need our help with movin' tables again till tomorrow, but there's plenty 'o folks in the kitchen 'o orchard that do, so get movin', lads." Skipper paused, crew lingering around the tables as they sensed something else before their dismissal. "Double the usual should go help in the kitchen, me included, seein' there's not enough shrimp 'o hotroot in the soup from wot I last saw."

"Over me pelt, ye are. The only reason that is, Jalik," a raised voice spoke up from behind the Skipper, making its sharp tones heard clear over all the rest of the bustling activities and voices, "is 'cause ye couldn't keep yore sinkhole 'o a mouth away from the pots. Friar Tribble looked like he nailed yore haunches good on the way out, too. Ye wait 'til he picks somethin' like me cane up, Skipper, though yore pretty familiar with gettin' tanned with that."

A few wayward snickers arose at the last comment, Skipper, Jessy, and Rillford turning to see the approaching speaker. Farflit didn't bother, ears having been pinned to listen at their arrival the entire time. He already knew who was coming out of the crowd, and he felt no compulsion to greet her.

Jessy waved in greeting as Ruae and Makara came out of the stream of organized chaos, grey-muzzled otter limping towards them at a rapid pace with her cane. The squirrelmaid next to her happily returned the wave, once white half-apron spotless no longer. Red and purple spotted stains dotted it and her short sleeves weren't quite wrinkleless, crinkled in a few patches from where she'd rolled them up.

"Hey, Jessy!" she yelled, jumping in greeting to better see her friend. Makara's long tail shot up after her. The mouse had to laugh as Ruae's immediate scolding and curses at her leap began even before she touched ground with her summer dress billowing under her, otter's words audible even over the crowd.

"May all the lies inna a vermin's throat have mercy on me, tis the pike," Skipper muttered, shuddering slightly as he watched Ruae get even closer. Her voice had carried on much further than her actual steps had, but the elder was quickly closing the distance. The otter chieftain glanced over towards Farflit as the fox finally made himself turn around. "No offense intended."

"None taken; there's little chance yer prayer's goin ta be granted with askin' mercy out of those," Farflit said, struggling not to cross his arms and to keep a particular expression off his face as Ruae approached. Skipper grimaced at the fox's eternal bluntness.

"Yore not helpin'."

"Who's not helpin' who?" Ruae said, making it to the tables with Makara alongside her. She pushed her cane end in the ground, straightening up with a look of determination on her face. Only Skipper and Makara glimpsed the brief pressure she put on it to steady herself. "Skipper, if yore tryin' t' convince the crew t' raid the kitchen before a feast, I'll beat ye meself t' keep hold 'o a shrimp 'o two."

Skipper Jalik grinned broadly, straightening up to make his tall height even taller and opening his sturdy arms to welcome the elder otter in an embrace. The two curling tattoos on his upper arms and shoulders and the one ink pike swimming over his shoulder blades stretched with him, holt signs seeming to wave over his skin like waterweed in a current.

"Ruae, me ole lass!" he said, arms still up for a hug Ruae pointedly ignored. She poked the Skipper in the side with her cane.

"Save all the kissin' up for later, Skipper. I'm not hearin' it today."

Skipper put down his arms, only smiling wider.

"But Ruae, me grandmum 'o the holt, t'isn't flattery."

Jessy's eyes, large under magnification already, grew to be comically big at his words. Makara was unable to hold back a laugh, squirrelmaid quickly grabbing her belly and digging her claws in to make herself stop before Ruae turned on her. The elderly otter shot her a side glance before putting her attention back on Skipper, snorting in derision at his comment.

"Teeth 'o a fen pike, I swear ye an' Cubert learned yore flattery from the same beast. Wouldn't put it past him t' have passed it on t' ye, actually. If so, than neither 'o ye faired the better." Ruae gave Skipper a rough pat on the shoulder before moving her attention on to the rest of the holt, none of whom were in a hurry to be further dismissed now that the fiery elder's bespectacled face had appeared. "An' what are ye lot waitin' 'round here for?"

"We missed ye, Grandmum Ruae," Rillford perked up, unable to stay silent at such an invitation.

Jessy almost choked at his words, mousemaid trying incredibly hard not to laugh, and Makara had to force herself to keep another snicker back. She hadn't got a single word in to Jessy since she and Ruae had first come over, but right now, it was worth it.

Ruae didn't miss their stifled laughs, but neither did she miss the brief look of disdain that crossed Farflit's face and the quiet snort that came from the fox's muzzle. The otter stayed near Rillford, but she purposely moved her shoulder back in his direction, turning her head with a casualness that didn't seem quite natural. Farflit noticed, fox stiffening for a second before an emotionless look came over his face. He hooked his thumb into the side of his pants belt and made himself comfortable where he stood.

"I'm takin' it ye have somethin' t' add t' this conversation?" Ruae said, pushing her spectacles further up her muzzle without moving her eyes from Farflit. Makara could see that she hadn't needed to. Her spectacles were high enough before.

Farflit's large ears flicked at being addressed, one's scarred tissue fluttering. "Nothin', old 'un," he said smoothly. Makara felt Jessy tensing nervously at her side as he spoke, mouse hesitating to reach for the fox's arm. A flash of something crossed inside her deep eyes. "I can see why the holt missed you an' yer charmin' attitude."

"Likewise; I can see that's why they enjoy hangin' around ye," Ruae said, twisting her cane handle. The bottom bored into the grass and tore some blades. "Don't start with me, fox," she said sharply, leaning forward with aggression as Farflit seemed to recoil a margin right where he stood. "I kept up the banterin' with me husband for the complete thirty seven seasons we were married 'til he was in the grave; I can deal with snappin' at ye for two 'o three days straight."

Skipper gave a bark of amusement at the challenging expression on Farflit's face and the vermin's refusal to be completely intimidated. "Better listen t' her, matey. She isn't doin' any bluffin'," he said, watching Farflit's fur sink back down to its unruffled state. "Ruae won't even sleep a wink t' keep up her scoldin' at ye. I should know."

Sensing the fox was going to reply, Jessy brushed her paw against his arm and gave it a quick squeeze. Makara could feel the mouse's eyes nervously passing back and forth from the two beasts. Farflit tugged his arm away from her soft grasp as easily if she was wet paper. The fox gave one final look to Ruae before glancing away, something in the air breaking. Makara didn't miss the smug expression that came across the otter's face.

"Anyway," the squirrelmaid broke in, not wishing to push the silent truce further, "I came down here to say hello to Jessy and check in, and since she's not arranging tables any further, can I borrow her for a while?"

Jessy blinked, tilting her head in curiosity. "What do you need help with, Makara?"

"Archive digging," Makara explained, dress shifting as she put a paw on one hip. "Friar Tribble lost the recipe for blackberry tarts somewhere down the line, apparently after he finished chasing a group of dibbuns out of the kitchen—" Makara gave Skipper a significant look, and Ruae held back a husky chuckle as the chieftain raised his paws in surrender. "—and while _he's_ got the whole thing memorized, some of the rest of the helpers don't."

"Doesn't he usually call Markus for going through the archives or gatehouse?" Jessy said, though Makara could see her paw itching to find the cloth scrap for glasses cleaning in her habit folds at the mere thought of reading.

The mouse was the only one could tolerate Markus's fascination with neat writing and letters for a long amount of time, and their shared quiet shyness among scrolls complemented each other. Makara had walked on in on them hunched over an old piece of lore more than once, both almost crammed into the same chair with ears and cheeks brushing and fascinated eyes focused on the scroll at paw, because 'look at this, Miss Jessy, isn't that a pretty drawing of a lily?'

"Markus is busy with Brother John," Makara said. "Having a talk about something; not sure what." She pulled her paw from her hip and poked at her stained apron. "I already served my time with Ruae, and I think I need to recover before I try and drown myself in berries again," she said, tilting her head towards the older otter. Ruae made a small sound of amusement, holding back a roll of her eyes.

"If ye put as much effort int' pickin' berries as ye did cursin' at the thorns stickin' in yore apron, we'd have picked the whole lot clean."

"Same goes for you," Makara replied.

"Alright, lasses, break it up," Skipper said, giving his broad shoulders a shake. "As much fun as this is turnin' out t' be, me crew an' I need t' get back t' work before the Abbess comes after us. The summer festival isn't goin' t' ready itself."

"Agreed," Ruae said, walking over to the Skipper. "I might as well head off with ye an' the holt; someone's gotta keep ye young'uns in line." She turned to find Farflit, immediately linking arms with the surprised vermin and iron grip keeping him pinned. "Ye c'mere, fox, I'm not done with our conversation yet. We have a lot t' cover."

Makara had to choke back a grin at the brief horrified expression on Farflit's face as Ruae began to march him and the holt away towards the kitchen, but her delight turned to surprise as the fox turned his head and shot a pleading look towards Jessy. The mouse's cheeks blushed slightly as she winced, mouthing a 'sorry' to his retreating form. Makara didn't have time to see the next expression on Farflit's face as Ruae tugged his arm and turned him around, the remaining bit of his tail bristling before the bodies of the rest of the holt swallowed them up.

There was a pause as Makara and Jessy stood beside each other and watched the holt cross the lawn, tall forms of brown and swinging rudders that moved across the grass and further tromped it down. If Makara looked close enough, she could spy a hint of grey bobbing throughout the tattooed backs and tribal swirls. A fold of habit robe brushed against her side and Makara glanced to the right. Jessy was leaning forward far enough to tip straight over her nose, thick glasses balanced on her muzzle as she stared intently at the crowd and followed the brush of grey.

Feeling a little uncomfortable with Jessy's scrutinizing gaze and how close the mouse was leaning to watch the holt better, Makara cleared her throat and shook out part of her dress. The mouse blinked a few times before dropping out of her focus. Suddenly realizing that Makara had been looking for the same thing she was, and that she was close to pressing into the squirrel's dress and getting tangled into her tail, the mouse immediately took a step back and looked away, hastily adjusting her habit and coughing.

"Sorry, sorry," she said, Makara pointedly ignoring the splotched blush across her face. "I just— just kind of drifted off…"

"I see that. C'mon, Jessy," she said, gesturing at the mouse before taking off.

A look of relief passed over Jessy's face before she smiled, heading after Makara with her habit flapping around her sandaled feet. The squirrelmaid never wore shoes. They slowed her climbing and made the tree bark feel unfamiliar and slick, Makara thought, dress flouncing as she kept up her energetic walk. Jessy kept up next to her with her long and thin tail dragging the ground behind them.

As they moved away from the crowded corners of the orchard and the hurrying lines of beasts trying to move harvests and tools from one place to another, some of the noise died away, soothing their ears. The archives were located in a hallway underneath the walltop, a place Makara had been rooting around the previous day for the hidden Ashtip. It was an immense place of storage that held both extra visitor rooms and the dusty scrolls of ancient lessons past that Markus the hare loved to submerge himself in. Whenever the gatehouse was filled by the abbey's recorder, all their writings were carefully moved to a shelf in the archives to make new room. To search the whole thing would take seasons.

Thankfully, Makara thought, watching a vole scramble by with a basket of bright wildflowers, Friar Tribble made sure to store all the recipes and their newer copies in the gatehouse. They'd only have to go archive digging without Markus or Brother John in the worst case.

Jessy gave a small sigh, happily taking in fading scent of flowers as they left the orchards behind. One of the enormous red walltops stood in the distance, turrets shining with afternoon light and the shadow of a stray Sparra's wings as they passed here and there. A side gate looked like a mere pockmark in Redwall's mighty stone side.

"You don't think Farflit's going to say something bad to Ruae, do you?" she said, face made soft by the thoughts of the delicate orchard flowers and fruit. She obsessed over them as much as Markus did over his math assignments.

"What? No, don't think so," Makara said, watching one figure skitter over the walltop. She couldn't tell their species at this distance. "Ruae's got thick skin; it takes a lot to offend her. She knew what she was starting when she began messing with him."

Jessy seemed to find some comfort in Makara's words, becoming more relaxed than before. She was at ease in her habit, tongue beginning to untie itself. "Sorry about earlier," she said, brushing her sandals over the grass. "I didn't mean to lean all over you. It's just that Farflit makes me worried. He acts nice and friendly when he wants to, and just when I think he's gotten used to the abbey and everything…"

Jessy made an expanding gesture with her paws. "Something like what he said to Rillford pops out, or worse. He can be so _cruel_ sometimes." The mouse winced at her next thought. "But it was either a choice between having him or Dipper help out, and you know the holt would've teased him about getting tattoos again, and that… wouldn't have ended well."

"As far as I'm concerned, Farflit's doing a lot better than when he first got here," Makara said, "though it's news to me that the fox is _nice_. He might say whatever he thinks, but he's fine with holding back words about anything positive." Makara flicked a stray thorn from her dress sleeve. "I'd say 'honest' is more the word for him than 'friendly.'"

Jessy frowned as she heard the dry tone Makara was taking and the undercurrent to it. "…Makara, that's unfair," she said, voice a bit lower. "I know you're still stuck on him being a fox, but that doesn't mean you have to keep giving him those looks you do. What do you think he'd feel if he knew?"

"He does know," Makara said, looking over at Jessy as they finished descending from a short slope on the lawn. "He's told me so. Bluntly. And seasons ago. Look, I know this sounds horrible, but it's the truth," she said. "I'm not going to lie to you about that, since you seem to trust Farflit more than anybeast else. Dark Forest Gates, you're practically his guardian angel," Makara said, giving a laugh. Her eyes softened as she saw a brief blush that wasn't anger come over Jessy's face.

"I might not sound too fond of the grumpy ball of grey fur, but it doesn't mean I have something against him. Me and Farflit, we got something settled seasons ago. We're good. Not quite at the same level I am with Ashtip or anybeast else, but you never know… I think he might grow on me," Makara mused.

Jessy shook her head, though more out of relief than anything else, and gently pulled Makara's paw off her shoulder as began walking again. "Makara, you scare me sometimes," she muttered, giving another little shake of her head. "You and Markus both." Jessy hesitated as she began to take off her glasses with cleaning cloth in paw and glanced up at her friend's face. "But you and Farflit really get along now…?"

Makara had to give the mouse beside her a smile, highly tempted to pat her shoulder again. "We've been getting along for seasons. I think you're the only one who's still convinced I'm glaring daggers at him. Martin help me, Jessy," Makara snorted, "for someone who picks up on emotions like an otter can smell out hotroot soup, you can be so _blind_ sometimes."

"Oh, be quiet, Makara," Jessy said, shoving her playfully in the arm as the mouse finished putting her glasses back on and tucking the cleaning cloth away.

A comradely atmosphere growing between the two maids again, Makara's steps became more energetic and happy once more. She and Jessy continued in a warm silence. Beyond all the hurried running and packing, there lay the tranquil abbey pond, sides choked with thick water rushes and a stray cattail or two. Today it was bound to be filled with net-casting otters, helpers, and boats as they waded around in their search for more shrimp and fish.

The gatehouse wasn't far away, but Makara and Jessy were taking their leisurely time. Sometimes it was hard to believe that Redwall was her home, Makara thought, taking in the immense scale of the abbey around her with a long breath. Not everybeast was this lucky.

Next to her, Jessy paused, curiously adjusting her glasses. Makara didn't see what she was looking at until she glimpsed the waving arms on the walltop, one figure dancing around another with gesturing arms. A buzz of noise was coming from the two, and the squirrelmaid frowned and broke out of her reverie as the harsh tone to their words floated over the grass. The shorter figure tried to dodge around the taller, big tail bristling behind them as they did.

A squirrel, Makara thought, beginning to walk faster without thinking about it, frown curling over the edges of her mouth. But the other beast up there was far too tall to be a squirrel, far too skinny to be an otter…

Before she realized it, Makara was running, Jessy close behind her. The stairs up to the walltop were close by. It didn't take long to reach them and cross underneath the shady arch, footpaws pounding up the stairs.

"Makara, wait up!" Jessy gasped, gulping for air as they continued up the endless red stairs, Makara ascending up the first flight like a demon.

By then, the two could hear the angry, spat words drifting down the stairs and echoing like bitter birdsong. It only made Jessy clamp her mouth shut and Makara run faster, the sound of sandals flopping following behind them.

"You stupid marten, move outta my _way—_"

"NO! Goddamn treerat, you don't know what you're doin', back off—!"

There was an arch of light at the end of the staircase, and then Makara and Jessy were suddenly bursting into the sun, chests heaving. Makara blinked rapidly as the bright sunlight stung at her eyes, body revealed to the high-up breezes and hot walltop rock. Her footpaws tingled with the burn.

At the sound of their arrival, the viciously arguing squirrel jerked away from Ashtip and stared at them both, ears shooting upright in surprise from their pinned-back positions. "Makara!" he said, Ashtip giving a jump at her name and twisting his head around to look. "Jessy!"

Makara was the first to catch her breath, Jessy momentarily bowed over as she gathered herself, clutching her rapidly beating chest. Her glasses hung on the end of her nose, ready to slip off.

"Krosah and Ashtip, what are you _doing?_" Makara said, glaring at the awkwardly posed pine marten and squirrel. The instant she mentioned them, they tensed up once more, bristling beasts turning on each other.

"You uglymug marten, move your stinking tail," Krosah growled, trying to shove his way around Ashtip. The vermin refused to move, stepping in front of him with a fast lunge Makara and Jessy never saw coming.

"Vulpez, squirrel, stop an' listen!"

Krosah swore and dodged around him, only for Ashtip to block him again with a swing of his tail and blur of muscle. The fur on the back of his neck stuck up like clumps of needles, and something twisted in Makara's stomach at the pure aggression the marten was showing, completely untainted by shyness or nerves.

"Ashtip, stop it!" Jessy burst out, trying to grab the vermin's back. She failed, he twisting away from her in a familiar hop of paranoia and bugging of eyes.

Makara was ready to jump in and grab him again, but the vermin came to stop only a mere step away, still blocking part of Krosah's exit. Makara could see the shivering restraint in his oddly colored eyes and slightly quivering limbs. He was barely managing to keep himself from leaping away again, something hardening in his face.

"What's going on here?" Makara snapped again, voice sharp, and Krosah opened his mouth and jumped forward before Ashtip could swing around.

"There's a whole group of visitors outside the Abbey, and Ashtip ain't letting me go and open the gate!" he said, giving a furious look to the vermin nearby as he landed next to Makara. Ashtip had winced at his jump, marten now tensed where he was. It looked as if he was being painfully stretched, caught between one place and another.

"What?" Jessy said, bolting over to the walltop with surprise. "Oh Saint Rose, Makara, there _are_ beasts down there!"

Giving a glance to Ashtip, Makara stepped over to Jessy's side and peered down over the walltop as Krosah remained where he stood, squirrel still glaring at the marten.

The look of surprise on Jessy's face was nothing compared to Makara's as she quickly spied what Krosah and Ashtip had moments earlier. Standing amongst the trees was a battered group of beasts, all in various stages of worn traveling. Torn hoods, stained skirts and pants, and filthy bandages hung over every thin limb and slumped back, which there were plenty shapes and sizes of. Makara could practically feel the dirt underneath her paws just looking at them.

The small group was fidgeting where they stood— some more active than others— but everybeast was clumsily crowding together in the space, either staring skyward at the Redwall battlements or down at the ground like broken puppets. Some were nothing but standing piles of rags, nobeast on the walltop able to make out their true form underneath the torn and knotted cloths. Ashtip made a demented hissing sound that froze Krosah's spine as a few of the beasts hungrily looked up again at the walltop, hearing more noise. Seeing their faces, Jessy gasped, and Makara had to swallow her heart down from her mouth.

The entire group was made of both woodlanders and vermin.

"We have to get down there and let them in right now," Jessy immediately said, unable to tear her eyes away from the group staring up. She propped herself up on her arms, standing on sandaled tiptoe. "Hello, can anybeast hear me down ther—?"

"Stoppit!" Ashtip said, arms and spine snapping forward as if he was going to grab Jessy. Krosah gave a chatter of rage and surprise, moving in his way and protectively putting his arms out. Jessy was startled out of her yelling by the sudden violent urgency in the marten's voice.

Seeing Makara and Krosah standing in front of Jessy, neither with friendly faces, Ashtip swallowed something down, almost cringing where he stood. He refused to hunch down in his usual scared manner, unblinking as he stared both the squirrels down. To Makara it seemed as if tired circles had appeared underneath his eyes when they weren't darting around.

"Ashtip, I don't know what the Hellgates you're panicking on about, but we have to go let them in," Makara said, shoving down one of Krosah's arms as she stepped towards the vermin. Jessy visibly winced at her swear, and Ashtip ran the edge of his tongue over some of his fangs, suddenly looking irritable as he stopped.

"That's why you shouldn't let 'em in; stoppit, all of you," Ashtip growled, gesturing with flexing claws like he was talking to ignorant dibbuns. "Do you _know_ what 'ey are? If 'ey get in here, then your abbey's goin' ta be 'un big trap for all of you—"

"Ashtip, please," Jessy begged, mouse taking a step back from the walltop as she cast anxious glances back and forth from the pine marten and the gathered group below. "We have to let them in, they're all going to die if we don't. Look at how thin they are… they have to be looking for help!"

"They are," Krosah said grimly, gaze still sourly fixated on Ashtip. He jammed an accusing claw forward at the vermin's chest, and the marten's eyes narrowed. "We heard them asking to be let in earlier, 'least I did, and then this crazy vermin comes outta nowhere, takes one look, and tries to block me off!"

"You bloody squirrel, you wouldn't be sayin' anythin' right now if you knew I was tryin' ta save all your miserable pelts!" Ashtip snarled, exasperation playing over his features and hauntingly tired eyes. "You kin't just let them in—"

"What in the snot of Vulpez are you blabberin' on about now, marten?" a blunt voice spoke up from behind, making Jessy, Krosah, and Makara all jump. The squirrelmaid whirled around to see Farflit climbing out of the staircase, loosely crossing his arms like he'd just joined a casual gathering.

"Farflit!" Jessy said, watching the grey fox walk across the walltop. No doubt he'd heard the commotion and used it as an excuse to escape from Ruae. Something akin to relief sagged across Ashtip's face before a muscle in his jaw twitched, gaze suddenly focusing.

Makara felt disturbed by the lucid and unpleasant concentration the marten now seemed to be finding from somewhere within himself. It seemed to eat away the image of a harmless but skittish vermin who hid behind walls from the cruel outside world. This new vermin knew all about that, Makara thought, her claws tightening on Krosah's arm without her bidding.

"An' finally, a beast with some sense arrives," Ashtip muttered, not seeming pleased with it.

"Not your brand of it," Krosah said, edging away from the marten in disgust. The squirrel beseechingly turned to Farflit, whom was already beginning to lean an arm over the walltop and look down. "Glad to have you up here, Farflit. Think your other verminy friend's gone crazy; he's convinced all the starving creatures down there are gonna eat us alive."

"I'm not surprised he'd come up with somethin' like it," Farflit said, voice still almost lazy, but the fox froze just as Krosah tilted his head up in triumph.

"Ha. I should go get the gate now, I reckon." The squirrel cleared his throat and gently tapped Makara's paw, prying her claws off his shoulder as she finally snapped out of her trance of staring at Ashtip. He held onto her fingers a few seconds longer than was necessary. "Thanks, Makara."

Makara was about to apologize when the lowest rumbling growl she'd ever heard came from behind her, making all of her fur stand on end. Jessy made a squeaking sound, taking a step back as Makara and Krosah stared at Farflit with wide eyes. A look of complete hatred and cold viciousness was latched across the fox's face, scarred muzzle drawn back in a growl that sounded like thunder. Ashtip gave him a grim look of satisfaction.

"Knew you'd be able ta smell it, fox," he said, staring down at the group of beasts behind at the walls as he edged away from them at the same time, some of his nervousness returning. "'O see it, at least," he hissed, looking ready to shudder out of his skin in revulsion.

Jessy finally got over her shock and reached out a paw for Farflit's arm, mouse's fur still prickling with a hint of fear. "Farflit, what— what's going on?" she whispered. Makara could see her habit sleeves and the tassel dimly shaking.

Farflit gripped the stone with his claws, still watching the group below. "Krosah, don't open the gate," he said, harsh tone making the squirrel blink in surprise. "Not the main 'un 'o side 'un; _none_ of the gates. Don't let a single damn beast in."

Makara opened her mouth in protest, trying to fight over the wave of fear that had crashed against her stomach at the grey fox's new tone of voice. A raw growl and power mixed together in a voice that sounded far more merciless and animal than Makara had ever heard him speak. Ruae had never seen this side, not even with all her teasing, Makara numbly thought.

Krosah finally got over his own fear and stepped forward, tail bristling. "But—" he protested.

"Go get the Abbess," Farflit said, speaking in the same kind of terrifying tone. His body was tensed and craned over the walltop edge with a hungry, almost hating kind of predatory. The fox's eyes were dead ice pools sheerly focused on the beasts below. They didn't move otherwise, not even when he spoke to Krosah or anybeast else. "Since yer the fastest, go do it, an' drag that worthless excuse for a champion of yers up here by the scruff if you have ta."

Sensing the real seriousness beginning to choke the walltop, Krosah gave him a nod, turning tail and running for the entrance arch. Makara could hear his feet pounding down the stairs, echoing even after the squirrel had gone. Ashtip bit back a shudder, eyes beginning to stray over the gathered beasts below as Jessy shakily grabbed Makara's arm for some kind of warm support. Makara could feel her pounding heart against her side, and she moved to better comfort her friend.

Farflit didn't peel his cold eyes from the group below once.

"So what now?" Makara asked, desperate to the break the terrible quiet that had overtaken the walltop and to chase the recent images of Ashtip's lucid eyes and Farflit's hateful face out of her head. Jessy squeezed her arm harder.

Farflit was still unmoving against the walltop stone.

"We wait."


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Krosah had returned with Abbess Petranka, he helping the aged mouse up the stairs and out into the harsh sun, Makara felt as if Farflit was ready to turn into stone himself to keep watching the group below the walltop for the rest of eternity. The fox had barely moved once the whole time they'd been waiting for the others to arrive, hawk-like glare of hatred still in place, and it had successfully made Makara feel like they'd been waiting long, stretched hours for the Abbess instead of a few tense minutes.

Jessy gave an audible and shaky sigh of relief as graying Abbess's face appeared, the mousemaid releasing Makara's arm and immediately dashing to the older beast's side. Makara felt her clenching grip finally leave her arm, and relief swelled up inside her as Skipper appeared in the stairway. Behind him, a pair of long ears bobbed the otter, Ortho peeking his head around as he and the chieftain moved out to join them.

Ashtip grimaced and briefly wrung his paws when he saw the champion's sword hanging from the hare's waist, but said nothing. Makara could see his eyes wildly turning and body flinching, and the squirrel was suddenly filled with the burning urge to shake him and scream at his foolishness or do the same to Farflit— _'You stinking fox, show some actual emotion! Stop staring that way, stop using those icy eyes, stop scaring Jessy, stop scaring all of us!'_ But nothing came out.

Makara wasn't sure who'd been worse to look at on the walltop between the two vermin. They'd obviously known something that nobeast else did, and Ashtip had gone back to his twitching and flinching at every miniscule sound with his oddly colored eyes flicking back and forth, not to mention his tail bristling like a pine needle branch. At every little extra jump he did, every spastic tremble that screamed somebeast was trying to hurt him or follow him, it had set Makara on edge worse than if they'd been prodded with a dagger. Add in that Ashtip had managed to keep up his perpetual falling-to-pieces the entire time, and she had felt like screaming.

In contrast, Farflit had been stoic other than the cool, intense wariness on his face, unmoving, unflinching, and almost unfeeling. The longer Makara had looked at him, the less she'd wanted to call the thing on his face 'hatred.' It didn't seem quite like it, though all Makara could dully think was that she'd never seen a real expression of hatred before, so what reference would she have?

Jessy now her had her arms firmly wrapped around one of the Abbess's and was frantically whispering to her, leading her up to the walltop edge and explaining part of the situation. Before, she had been softly shivering the whole time she'd watched Farflit, unwilling to go close to her precious vulpine saint and cling to or poke him like she always did. For her, the behavioral shift had been like somebeast had jerked the floor out from under her. Makara could practically see the look on Ashtip's face underneath the intense flashes of paranoia and jumpiness— _'Why're you surprised?'_

Makara was jolted out of her thoughts as she approached the Abbess, seeing another form emerging from the staircase. The towering form of Dipper the weasel emerged, pausing with a paw on the entrance frame before he stepped out. Only he and Ortho looked completely un-winded from their dash up the stairs, Krosah still breathing a little hard and Skipper's chest pushing out further than necessary when he breathed. Makara raised a paw and waved at the tan weasel, forcing a smile on her face as she stepped besides Krosah.

"Hey, Dipper."

"Makara," he said, giving a tiny nod of his head before looking at Farflit hunched over the walltop. The squirrelmaid watched Dipper look everything over, beginning to walk forward like he was going to take a stroll down the battlements. When saying hello to Dipper, receiving more than a grunt of acknowledgement was considered lucky. Yet it seemed less rude than an odd form of politeness: if the weasel knew somebeast, he wasn't going to waste their time with piles of worthless greetings and small talk.

"So wot's bloomin' goin' on up here?" Ortho said, playing with the sword hilt at his waist and breaking the tension with all the tact of a dibbun. Ashtip gave something that would have been a snort of derision, but it was made high-pitched by nervousness.

Abbess Petranka said nothing at first, reaching up and lowering her habit hood. A muzzle even greyer and more worn than Ruae's poked out, soft elderly eyes of faded green looking the situation over even as Jessy stopped her shaking and glanced at Farflit again. Wafer thin ears with nearly visible veins running through them gently glowed orange and pink in the sun rays. Both of them gave a tremble as Skipper elbowed Ortho to prevent him from joining Farflit at the walltop, otter giving the hare a warning look before he began to look over the tensed fox.

"I can see there's a whole situation to be explained here," the Abbess said, calm voice seeming to echo further than Ortho's words before, "but before then, there's a few things to be done. Jessy, would you and Ashtip please make sure the gates aren't being opened yet?"

At her words, Ashtip gave a strangled splutter, whirling around to stare at the Abbess with defiant and wild eyes. "_What?_ But I kin't leave, not with all of _'em_ outside, you dunno what 'ey are—" he whined, already beginning to walk towards her with waving claws.

Dipper, who'd somehow managed to get himself next to Farflit when Makara blinked, paused and gave the marten a warning look before brushing his dagger hilt with his claws. Ashtip didn't seem to notice, slinking over to the Abbess with a mouthful of complaints and pelt of bristling fur as Skipper watched him with a pitying disapproval. Ortho looked a hint amused by the whole thing.

"Ashtip, calm yourself," the Abbess said, Jessy recoiling from the approaching vermin. Makara felt something prick her stomach, mouth suddenly wanting to tilt in a frown. Or had it been the Abbess who'd stepped aside from him…? "We're not going to make any decisions in a hurry, and I'm sure that—" A tiny pause wrenched in the Abbess's silvery throat. "—Farflit and Dipper will be able to reassure the vermin amongst the crowd down there and tell me the basics of what you know."

"More than that," Farflit said, speaking up with a blunt voice that made Krosah and Makara simultaneously wince in surprise. Jessy was now watching him again, worry and something else Makara couldn't place swimming behind her glasses. Dipper just gave a respectful nod to the Abbess in place of Farflit's eye-contactless words.

There was another strangled protest and hiss in the pine marten's throat, his claws squeezing on a phantom surface and eyes darting all over the walltop as if he was stuck down a well, unable to claw his way out, and it'd only be a matter of time before he drowned. Through her previous irritancy with him, Makara felt pity and sorrow poking at her at chest for his state. This was unfortunately familiar, and she could only be glad Markus wasn't here to see his friend snapping at his personal ghosts against.

"But Abbess—"

"…come on, Ashtip," Jessy said, abruptly speaking up and cutting him off. The vermin blinked in surprise at her low tone, turning as the mouse released the Abbess and approached him with outspread paws. "Let's go. I promise they're not going to do anything stupid with… whoever they are," Jessy said, voice soft and comforting. "The Abbess and Skipper will handle it." She purposely avoided looking at Farflit as she wrapped her arms around one of the tall marten's and pressed herself against his side, feet practically dangling off the ground due to his height. Ashtip looked like he was drowning.

The terrifying bewilderment in his eyes cleared long enough for him to follow Jessy, mouse with her arm firmly linked around in his in an unfunny parody of how Ruae had been keeping Farflit prisoner earlier in the day. But though Makara was watching a tall, lean and wriggly pine marten being escorted down the stairs by a short, gentle-pawed and tranquil mouse, she had a feeling it wasn't Jessy who was holding on tighter.

Farflit only bothered to tear his gaze away from the group long enough to watch their tails vanish down the staircase, and immediately turned his focus on Ortho. "Keep yer mouth shut an' stop playin' with yer sword like you do yer pride, hare," he snapped, seeing Ortho beginning to fiddle with his weapon and speak up with impatience again.

Sensing the grey fox's impending wrath, Skipper Jalik gave a scowl and lightly cuffed the back of the hare's head. "Now's not the time t' be playin', Ortho… 'specially while we don't know what's goin' on." He gave both Farflit and Dipper a significant look, fox narrowing his eyes a fraction at it. Makara heard Krosah give a tiny snort and felt the other squirrel move close to her than he had before, almost to the point where their tail tips were brushing.

Skipper's look was wasted on Dipper, who had his back to them all as he observed the activity underneath Redwall's shadow the same way Brother John would a lazy game of chess. If he felt the otter's gaze he didn't care. Just looking at him, Makara felt her eyes unconsciously tracing the curving lines of shorter fur on his hardened shoulders and sinewy back, fascinated by what had once been. Most of the fur had grown back to regular length since when he'd had his tattoos removed by the holt healer, but that was with emphasis on 'most.'

Though Makara hadn't been around long enough to witness his tattoos in their full glory, it was hypnotizing to trace the barely shorter fur down his flexible back and lean scarred muscle with her eyes, guessing what kind of sinuously twisting patterns of ink had made their trails all the way down his sleek fur and below his waist, slithering underneath the back of his pants in a suggestion of going lower… though it was terrifying and awkward at the same time, since Dipper seemed to be _very_ aware of whenever somebeast was looking at him.

In a change from her usual tactics, Makara had decided it'd be better to marvel from afar. Having to explain to a weasel why she was checking out his haunches was hardly on her to-do-list of life.

"Maybe we can actually get it outta you now, seeing Ashtip's not here to do anymore yelling," Krosah said, boldly taking a step closer to Farflit and breaking Makara out of her trance. He still refused to entirely separate himself from Makara's side, but his act was thrown away when the feisty squirrelmaid strode over the grey fox closer than he'd dare to.

"I've been quiet the whole time this has been going on, but I have to agree with Krosah and the Abbess now, Farflit," Makara said, crossing her arms with a sassy twitch of her tail. It curved behind her like the rising head of swan, looping the same way its neck would be. "I think it's about time we stopped waiting to hear what you and Ashtip were going berserk about."

Farflit's ears perked up her words, slowly turning from the walltop to look at the gathered crowd of Redwallers. Makara couldn't help but give an internal shudder at the cold look still settled in his eyes, but Dipper— who was right next to the fox— kept observing the group below. The Abbess cleared her throat to signify she was listening. Skipper giving Ortho a warning look he cheerfully seemed to ignore as Farflit reached up and began to comb his claws over his shredded ear.

"Every beast down there is sick with the White Madness. An' there's not a thing you can do about it."

Everyone except Dipper blinked in surprise, staring at the fox. Makara herself could feel all her past suspicions and thoughts rolling over in disbelief. She'd thought maybe the group below was really a band of mercenaries or thieves, perhaps exiles from wherever Ashtip had dragged his carcass out of, or maybe even a few beasts connected to Farflit's past and the day he'd come dragging his bleeding pelt out of the snow. But sickness? Makara thought, beginning to feel angry at the fuss both vermin had set up already. According to Markus, Redwall had a whole infirmary that made even Salamandastron hare healers jealous. A little bout of…whatever 'madness' Farflit had mentioned was nothing.

The Abbess visibly raised her thin eyebrows as Ortho snorted.

"So they're sick? That's it? Bloody blinkin' vinegar, Farflit," Ortho said, snickering and shaking his head, "we should let 'em in an' shove them off into the infirmary if it's a case of sniffles you an' Ashtip are so scared of, wot."

Farflit broke out of his distracted look long enough to give Ortho a withering look, paw still playing with the cuts on his ear. "If it was anythin' else, hare, I wouldn't have called yer Abbess up here," he said, disgust dripping from his voice at Ortho's apparent stupidity. Makara was glad she hadn't spoken up about her previous thoughts, seeing Ortho had taken her words right out of her mouth. She pursed her lips.

"Excuse me for asking, Farflit, but I don't believe I've heard of the 'White Madness' before," the Abbess said, frowning and tapping her translucent claws together. They looked like fogged glass in age. "If anything," she continued, walking over to the walltop and looking over with neatly folded paws on the stone, "I'd have to say it seems like all the beasts below have a bad case of Drydritch Fever rather than any kind of 'madness.'"

While Farflit was normally respecting of the Abbess, Makara heard him swallow a snort of derision before he thought better and forced a look of politeness on his face. "No 'un with Drydritch covers their bodies up from the sun an' drools a tankard of spit just by breathin'," he ground out, teeth slightly clenched. "They don't have Dryditch. Ashtip wouldn't have gone more loopy an' ravin' than usual if they did. The marten doesn't have much of his head 'o senses left, but it's enough to tell what Dryditch is."

"Well, if it ain't Dryditch, then what _is_ it?" Krosah snapped as his impatience got the best of him. Makara was secretly glad that he'd done so, the same question screaming inside her the whole time. Farflit gave him another look of disdain the same he'd done to Ortho.

"I _told_ you—"

"If you say it's the White Madness one more time I'm gonna hit you upside the head," Krosah growled. Makara gave him a sharp look, yanking his arm and hauling the other squirrel back.

"Krosah, we have enough on our paws without arguing," she said, narrowing her eyes at Krosah's surprised face and quieting Farflit's growl before it began to creep out of his throat. The fox silenced, Ortho twitching in place with long ears shivering. He wasn't used to being quieted this long, Makara thought as she released Krosah, but even Ortho could tell the fox was in a worse mood than usual.

"Ye've got me agreein'."

Makara gave a half smile as she turned to the chieftan, relieved to have another level head besides her and the Abbess. "Thanks, Sk— Skipper, what are you doing?" she said, almost starting with surprise and drawing the attention of everybeast else.

Instead of looking at her, both Skipper and Dipper were standing side by side near the walltop edge and observing the trees and ragged group below with the air of scouts. Both were standing up to their full long-spined heights with paws cupped over their brows to block out some of the sun, and if they'd had a spyglass, Makara could bet they'd be conversationally passing it back and forth. She was surprised the gathered group below hadn't said anything with them looking down.

Skipper looked up from another scan, Dipper leaning away from the walltop and crossing his arms in satisfaction. "Me apologies; what were ye sayin', Makara? Dipper was just pointin' out somethin' very… interestin' about our new visitors."

Not in the mood for Skipper Jalik's talkative runarounds, the Abbess folded her sleeves together and immediately went to the otter's side. Dipper awkwardly shifted away, leaving a little more space between him and the Abbess that was necessary, but she said nothing of it and made no attempt soothe the weasel. Ortho immediately followed, not wanting to be left out.

"What?" Makara said, looking over the skinny and tattered beasts below once more. Some had now taken refuge in the shade of the trees, though the squirrelmaid could believe they'd need to seek shelter from the sun with those layers of ragged clothes on them.

Anybeast with Drydritch Fever or without would be sweating to death in those heaps of rags and clothes, Makara thought, paws clenching onto the stone rampart harder than before.

She felt a tiny internal shiver at the blank way a few of them were staring up at the wall. They were clumped together in the center of the little clearing and drifting from patch to patch of personal space before they gave a clumsy jerk and shoved or flinched away from their nearest company, what Makara assumed were hisses and tiny jaw snaps following. It was almost like the mindless swaying of weeds in a breeze, or a whole crowd of exhausted drunks.

When she caught sight of a few glazed eyes peering up from hallowed faces and draped hoods, Makara felt a disturbed jolt go through her. They hadn't been speaking up because they couldn't see her, or Skipper, or Dipper. They physically couldn't see anybeast on the walltop. Some of them, anyway… Makara thought, sensing a few clear gazes watching her from amongst the tattered cloth and spotting a few almost unclouded eyes that gave her shivers.

"How many were talkin' t' ye before Ashtip butted in?" Skipper said, observing the beaten crowd. Krosah, who'd approached the Abbess's side and viewing party right after Makara, frowned in concentration.

"Just those," Krosah said, pointing to the group of four or five crowded closely to the abbey, "and it was the one with the half cloak who spoke." Makara saw a taller one of the crowd with hood hanging over their eyes, standing in the middle of the clearing. A dark ripped cloak only went down to underneath their shoulders, the rest of it gone in a frayed and torn mess. "I think I saw one or two more of their lot further back in the trees, but when they didn't say anything…" Krosah shrugged and ignored the eye-rolling expression on Farflit's face. Dipper shifted uncomfortably next to the Abbess as Ortho pressed her closer, hare trying to get a better view. "Well, somebeasts just end up shy when they see the Abbey's walls. Isn't surprising for them to hide now and then."

"Ye had part of that right, Krosah," Skipper said, looking not quite as pleased as before as he surveyed the visitors below. Makara's mouth tightened into a line at his expression. "In fact, there's a whole lot of them ye aren't seein'. I venture t' say there's around a score of extra beasts tucked around the trees there."

Krosah, Makara, and Ortho all straightened up at Skipper's words, all of them immediately craning their heads in haste to be the first to see what the otter was describing. Farflit merely looked on grim and unsurprised, while the Abbess kept a patient look on her face as she awaited another report. She couldn't find anything hidden with her ancient eyes, with or without the glasses she was too proud to wear, and leaning over the walltop to search would just be torture on her brittle bones instead of helpful.

At first, Makara saw nothing but the lush green treetops that spread over the surrounding Mossflower woods, thousands of leaves molding together into a rustling and breathing mountain range of green. An occasional spear of pine needles broke the spiny and folding lake of oak, ash, and maple tree leaves, along with the lengthy arms of bare branches jutting out here and there. Makara was familiar with those. She and Krosah had flown over them together with some of the Forest Patrol at a break-neck pace.

Looking lower, the small gathering of beasts was standing in one of the splits in the trees, trailing wedge clearings made by seasons of hewing down firewood for the winter. Other than a few straggly bushes and a scattering of thicker trees here and there left by the Foremole and Skipper out of respect for the woods, there was nothing but some stomped down weeds. Mossflower was still filled with snarled ivy vines and nasty briar patches that cast shadows over the inhabitants and plants. The Redwallers had merely done a better job at clearing some of it away from the Abbey.

But Dipper and Skipper had seen something, Makara thought, frowning as she stared closer along with Krosah and Ortho. Impatience was bristling through Farflit's very spine as the fox struggled to keep himself from the walltop, trying to keep the pretense that he didn't need to see the hidden beasts around the walls again… presuming he'd seen them at all. Skipper and Dipper watched with marked patience, the weasel's face oddly blank aside from a twitch above his muzzle here and there.

It was then that Ortho saw the gentle shifting of the bush shadows, far too large to be cast by the tangled mass of tiny leaves and branches. And as Krosah quickly noticed, fur standing on end and tufted ears pulling back, there were many large blobs of shadows lurking around, some behind the trees instead of bushes. Shadows that had strips of rags and wilted hoods hanging from them.

After Makara's and Krosah's eyes widened, Ortho gave a low whistle, arching his eyebrows and cocking his long ears. "There's a whole bleedin' brigade tucked away back there, wot! How'd you miss that, Krosah? S'not like the sun is _that_ jolly bright on your eyes."

"Shut up, Ortho," Krosah said, aggression in his tone and stiff tail faltering as he looked over the hidden blobs. Makara could feel a heaviness to the realization that there were far more every time she took a closer look. "I don't… I dunno know how I missed then," the squirrel said, hollow with disbelief. Abbess Petranka made a quiet sound in the back of her throat. She was kept back from comforting him by the presence of Ortho and Dipper in the way.

"I was seriously looking all over the place once I noticed the first few that were hiding, but— they're not even in the same place anymore. When'd they get to _move?_"

"During this pointless an' long conversation," Farflit said, grey fox's paw itching towards his scarred ear again. He'd forced it down earlier, but it was steadily making its way back up.

"They were movin' afore then, fox," Dipper said, startling Makara and making Krosah look up hopelessly towards the weasel's face, still seeking out a reason why his sharp eyesight had failed. Dipper's voice was rough and husky even at his not-past-prime age, sounding like a worn dagger hilt looked. "More an' more of them were stickin' themselves in the shadows an' crawlin' around since the second I stepped out 'ere. Noisy mucke— _beasts_," he corrected, brown eyes flicking towards the Abbess for a second, "were probably arrangin' themselves afore you spotted them, squirrel. Just not well. Nobeast does anythin' well with the White Madness in 'em except gnawin' off faces."

Dipper spoke without any of the hatred of Farflit, though Makara could see a distinct edge of displeasure beginning to tug at one mouth corner. Despite the hint of indecisiveness in his voice— as if the vermin couldn't choose what shade of disgust he wanted to show towards the beasts below— Dipper had sounded exactly like Markus calmly proclaiming the answer to one of the easiest mouth problems in the world. Take the whole situation out of context and the grim flash of realization across Skipper's face away, and Makara had a feeling she'd be giggling at the near deadpan of it all.

"We've heard a great deal about the White Madness already, Dipper; would you and Farflit please elaborate?" Abbess Petranka spoke up before Ortho could interject, firmness behind her polite tone. To Makara, it felt like the tip of an icicle had grazed the aged mouse's words, and one of the unpleasant twitches and brow furrows flitted across Dipper's face before it vanished. Makara wasn't sure if she'd truly seen it or not.

Farflit managed to look away from the beasts he'd been observing, remembrance and a stray memory being shoved away to focus on the present as he turned to the Abbess. Skipper, Dipper, and everybeast else watched him closely as he did so. Even Ortho seemed to be paying attention, though Makara chalked her belief of that happening up to the sun frying her brain.

"The White Madness is a sickness. When you catch it, you die. No exceptions," Farflit said, expression growing hard. His audience was finally listening, and he wasn't going to mince words. "Everybeast who does spends their time droolin', whimperin', fearin' all water, an' attackin' anything that moves, livin' or not. That's how you catch it to start with; somebeast else has to bite you or claw you to pass it on, you won't catch it otherwise like Drydritch."

Farflit gave a soft snort, eyes clouding with something as his fingers unconsciously began to comb through the ripped remains of his ear. "An' anybeast who gets it fights like somethin' out of Hellgates."

"…doesn't it weaken them?" Makara said, unable to keep the question back in the dull silence that followed. "If the illness is really terminal, and they spend all their time wondering around and attacking things—"

"They don't care anymore," Dipper said, his back to the walltop view. Makara and Krosah looked at him, the weasel's grim calmness seeming to speak over everything else. "Somethin' in 'em knows they're goin' ta die when their bodies start fallin' apart, an' their minds go long afore then. They'll rip anythin' o' anybeast they find ta shreds to please 'emselves one last time afore Vulpez an' the vultures get 'em."

"Unfortunately, I'm startin' t' see what Farflit an' Dipper are talkin' about," Skipper said, chieftain looking subdued as all gazes went to him. "Took me a while t' jog me memory, but I just remembered somethin' similar us otters have. Every now an' then, somebeast in a holt 'o two completely loses it. Aside from all the eventual rampagin' an' shiverin', ye can tell they have it by their fear 'o water." Skipper gave a halfhearted shrug with one shoulder. "The holts took t' callin' it River Panic, seein' any otter who'd gotten it would have a fit if they got wet 'o thrown out 'o their riverboats. Wouldn't even get the tips 'o their whiskers near it."

When Ashtip had first begun to panic and make Makara uneasy on the walltop, she hadn't believed the atmosphere could get any grimmer or more unsettling. She was wrong. After Skipper finished speaking, it felt like a heavy pressure of foreboding and tenseness had settled down on everyone's bones at once. Even Ortho seemed somewhat affected, hare making no wisecracks or ignorant comments as he gripped the champion's sword hilt. The sun itself seemed to beat down with a new kind of malicious heat, accelerating the way it melted fur to skin and rotted the already decaying bodies of the sick beasts below.

Makara had to force herself not to look down again, shoving away the sickening image she'd just received with that thought.

"What are we going to do about it, then?" Ortho demanded, breaking the silence with the clack of a sword sheath against sandstone brick. The hare snorted, lifting his head with a set jaw in an expression that often made Makara want to sock him in the face. "It's not like we're goin' to bally leave them out there for the crows or go an' do them in ourselves. Can you think of how that'd sound? 'Top 'o the mornin' to you, Mr. Fieldmouse, sah, you don't mind if we bash in your head? You seem to have a touch 'o the White Madness, wot!'"

Krosah made a muffled sound of displeasure, Makara ready to begin scolding or snapping at Ortho for the absolute inappropriateness of his stupid words, but the squirrelmaid found herself slowly freezing up on her first step forward by the lack of argument in the air. Skipper tried to elbow Ortho, the hare stepping away from it and briefly sticking out his tongue, but there were no words from Dipper and Farflit. In fact, to Makara's horror, both vermin averted their eyes as the full meaning of Ortho's statement and their missing replies settled down on all the other Redwallers present.

Ortho's tiny smile and spot of entertainment vanished as he slowly took in the absent responses, hare settling in the place where he'd dodged Skipper's reprimanding hit. "…you're not sayin' anything," Ortho said slowly, paw tightening around the sword hilt. Farflit glanced towards him, eyes still cold, and Makara was grateful Jessy couldn't see the fox right now. "I was just makin' a bloomin' joke, wot, an' here you are with serious faces. You really didn't bally think I was suggestin'—"

There was the sound of sliding metal as Dipper unsheathed an inch of his dagger.

"NO," Makara and Krosah chorused immediately, snarls appearing on their faces. Makara felt her heart pounding an extra beat as she lunged towards Dipper, weasel tensing and straightening up more as he let the dagger slide back to where it belonged.

"You filthy vermin, this is _Redwall,_ you can't always just solve the problem by killing them—" Krosah burst out, tail bristling behind him, and Dipper gave him a positively sour look at his choice of words.

"…excuse me, _treerat?_" he said, a rough growl building in his throat and fur beginning to rise along the back of his neck, including the shorter patches. Skipper's shoulders tensed, otter inching closer towards the weasel, and Ortho looked ready to draw his sword then and there. Farflit was looking ready to jump otter, squirrel, and hare alike.

"Enough!" Abbess Petranka snapped, pushing her frail body in the middle of them all from where the scene had been playing out. She gave all the participants glares, pausing to give Krosah and Dipper longer ones of warning. Even with much of her physical strength gone, her voice could still contain a sting in it. "Fighting amongst ourselves isn't going to improve this situation any further, and making snide insinuations concerning the Woodlander Code or insults is no better," she said, eyes narrowing in warning at the bristling squirrel and weasel watching.

Krosah gave a slight flinch, throwing one last glare of disgust and anger at Dipper before he averted his eyes from the weasel completely. Dipper returned it before he crossly leaned against the wall, forcing his face into a neutral expression. He still looked unfriendly and cold.

Once she saw peace was restored, the Abbess relaxed, shoulders lowering and habit folds slumping against her. She looked visibly relieved, veiny ears giving a twitch in the sun. "What we need is to consider what we know and have. The White Madness, River Panic, or whatever it may be name, is apparently incurable and makes beasts highly aggressive and volatile. Given that Redwall has many extra rooms and a fine infirmary, it _is_ possible that we could act as a final hospice for them with the heavy aid of the otter guard and Forest Patrol…" The Abbess raised her eyebrows at Farflit in question. The grey fox shook his head.

"No."

"Abbess, if you let 'em in, 'ey'd be chewin' on a lot more than any food you gave 'em," Dipper said, weasel sounding calmer than before, though his fur was still ruffled and he avoided looking at Krosah. "It takes a single bite 'o smearin' of spit ta spread it, an' if one of 'em got loose in the dormitory halls 'o kitchen…" Dipper trailed off suggestively, husky voice lowering to a menacing finish.

Even Skipper looked hesitant as the Abbess turned to him, otter reading the question on her lips. "Well, me Abbess, most of the holt members that had River Panic didn't stay long," he admitted. "Most of them headed off t' somewhere in Mossflower where nobeast else could find them once they started seein' the signs. Didn't want t' risk spreadin' it t' their family an' loved ones."

Ortho had been getting steadily more stony-faced and irritated with every word, chest practically swelling with anger and thick bottom jaw locking where it was in a striking resemblance to his father, but it seemed that the passing expression over the Abbess's face after the three answers was the final straw.

"NO," he said, speaking with the closest to a snarl Makara had ever heard him use outside of an intense sparring match with Skipper. Ortho stepped forward, moving around the Abbess to get in everybeast's face. "We're not just goin' to leave them out there while they're dyin' all over the place; what kinda bloody nonsense is _that?_ This is bally _Redwall,_ not some of kind of fortress; you can't just turn them away because of what _he_ says—" Ortho jabbed a paw in Farflit's direction.

"Ortho—" Makara said, trying to warn the hare to back away from the Abbess and the suddenly aggressive looking Farflit. Dipper and Skipper hadn't moved, but the former seemed to be tense again, gaze lighting over the way Ortho's erratically gesturing paw was gripping the champion's sword at random intervals. Skipper's long form seemed to coil back, chieftain ready to throw himself between Abbess and the bitter energy sparking between Farflit and Ortho.

"She can, hare," Farflit said, grey fox taking a condescending and cruel tone. His ripped tail swept behind him, shredded ear and other pulling back as his eyes narrowed. "Life's not perfect outside of yer pathetic game of bein' champion. There are sicknesses that twist the innards of innocent an' guilty beasts alike into shreds with no second chances; you cut them off an' make sacrifices to save what you have… like what yer father did with you to save what was left of his dignity. _Grow up._"

"Farflit, silence!" the Abbess said, stepping forward to quiet the fox, but too late. Makara saw something that was almost a flinch run over Ortho's face and through his brown eyes when Farflit mentioned his and Markus's father, but then it was gone. It vanished into a boiling kind of berserk that was barely tempered by the hint of childishness Makara was familiar with.

Ortho unsheathed the sword of Martin with lighting speed, swinging it to a blocking posture as Farflit snarled and leapt away further down the wall, fox looking like a living blob of grey fur. Skipper lunged for him, Dipper drawing his dagger just as fast and sidestepping in a blur of lean muscle and a spine twist, but Ortho had already jumped backwards, legs propelling him away from the crowd and towards the walltop entrance. Farflit made a sound of surprise as Ortho retreated from them, looking ready to defensively parry anything that came his way, including the crouched Makara and Krosah.

"It doesn't bally matter," he said, breathing a little harder as he assessed the entire gathered group with a warrior's eye— the one thing he was good at, Makara thought sourly, besides being a terrible older sibling— and beginning to step backwards. "We can all jolly well handle them an' make room; I'm lettin' them into the infirmary an' Redwall whether you bloody hard-hearts want me to or not!"

In one swift pump of his legs and furious snarl from Farflit, fox throwing himself at the running hare, Ortho made a break for the staircase. Makara felt the whole world explode in a blur of brown and grey fur, vaguely registering that Skipper had taken off an instant before Ortho or Farflit had, Dipper in close pursuit of them all, and that yells of protest and anger were spilling out of the Abbess's and Krosah's mouths.

Makara couldn't identify whose were whose as she flung herself forward, air and adrenaline pounding around her as she tackled the half-tail in front of her.

She hit the solid back of the fox and clawed her way around his neck with her arms, tripping him up with an enraged curse and sending them slamming onto the stone floor on their knees with a screeched "FARFLIT, NO!" They hit the jarring ground and he bucked beneath her in protest, muscles and pelt alive and squirming and rough paws trying to pry her grip off him. Makara felt Krosah leap and pile onto the grey fox with her, pulling him down and back. Her apron was a flapping white sheet crushed against them.

All Makara could think of as Krosah began to snarl reasons at the fox to stay back and leave Ortho alone was the look of complete hatred he'd had earlier. Jessy's Farflit just made a cruel comment here and there or bruised somebeast up a bit during weapons practice, maybe stealing a stray bauble or scone or two. This Farflit with the cold eyes and rumbling snarl would genuinely _hurt_ somebeast.

At the end of the walltop, Ortho slammed into the ground mere feet away from reaching his goal, Skipper shoving past the way the hare was trying to block his paw with the flat side of the blade and taking his legs out of from under him with a dive. A minute later, sword wrenched out of his death-grip and hanging from Skipper Jalik's belt, the hare was struggling and swearing with all the maturity of a spoiled dibbun as Dipper and Skipper hauled him back to the Abbess and an icy-faced Farflit, who was flanked by Krosah and Makara. Ortho came to a jerky stop in his struggling when Dipper and Skipper stopped him in front of the Abbess, Skipper giving a slight grunt of disapproval as Dipper forced him down to his knees. The otter still didn't let up from his arm lock.

"Ortho, that's it," the Abbess said, staring straight into his infuriated brown eyes. With him on knee level, she no longer had to look up to find his face. "There are some things we still need to discuss before we decide what to do with our visitors; your action was completely impulsive and foolish."

Abbess Petranka leaned in closer and tipped up the hare's head with a single thin paw, forcing him to turn back around and look at her from where he'd defiantly twisted it away. The anger and rebellious action he was going to do the instant he was released shone through his eyes, not an ounce of regret or care for the Abbess's will in them, and Makara had to bite back an angry chatter of her teeth. The Abbess merely sought out his eyes again.

"You might've not only injured Skipper Jalik or Dipper with your sword after that attempt at a dash, but the entire Abbey if those outside it are as dangerous as they've been made out to be. That immense number contains all of the dibbuns, elders, and families you assumed responsibility of safety for the day you become champion… including Markus," the Abbess said, becoming quieter at the end and looking more exhausted. Ortho noticed, his little yanks and annoying jerks stopping the instant his brother's name was mentioned.

Thanks to the Abbess's movements, Makara could no longer read Ortho's face, though the hare was oddly still. Dipper had an obvious look of disgusted relief when Ortho stopped squirming under his hold. He still looked like he wanted to bash Ortho over the head, Makara thought, glancing at Farflit and expecting to see a much more violent wish mirrored in his expression. She was greeted with a familiar set face and unreadable emotionless eyes for the umpteenth time.

When Makara looked back again, she'd missed a murmured speech the Abbess had been whispering directly in Ortho's long ears, aged mouse just pulling away before she continued in her normal tone of voice. "…you're forbidden from carrying the champion's sword as long as the group is outside our walls," she said, tone firm and rule-making again. Abbess Petranka pulled her paw away from Ortho's face. He didn't look away, though Makara saw an twitch come over him.

"Skipper Jalik, Dipper, or one of the holt shall be with you or guarding the gates at all times, provided you can't follow commands or common sense for the Abbey's safety. I'm currently considering just having them guard the gates. At worst, you'll be temporarily stripped of your position," the Abbess continued, making Ortho look up with raised eyebrows. She noticed the startled face he'd barely managed to hide seconds earlier, fixing him with a firm look. "Don't make me regret this decision or force me to change my mind, Ortho, because in this case, I will, regardless of how it will affect you or Markus."

Makara noticed Ortho's fists clench at the Abbess's final statement, and she immediately thought of the horror that would await the two brothers if Markus was forced to write to their parents and inform them what temporary disgrace had befallen their eldest son… or if they were both forced to tell them face-to-face when they arrived for the Summer Festival. She wasn't sure who would suffer more. Then she thought of the carefree attitude Ortho took when he swaggered down the hall with Martin's sword and the almost perfectionist way Markus was frantically scribbling down the Summer Festival speech, locked up in the dusty archives, and Makara knew the answer.

The Abbess stood and backed away from Ortho, cringing as her arthritic bones wined in complaint. At her nod, Skipper cautiously released the champion, Dipper following suit. Ortho climbed to his feet again, rubbing the wrist Dipper had been holding. He stopped almost immediately, staring down the Abbess before moving his gaze to Farflit— who tensed a margin— and then to Makara and Krosah, before sparing a glance for Skipper and Dipper. Makara had never dreamed of the blessed day where Ortho would be speechless, but now it seemed to be happening.

Ortho looked as if he was going to say something before he began to grumble underneath his breath, words peppered with plenty of 'bally's, 'wot's, and 'bloody's and far more explicit words. He turned on his heel and roughly stalked away from Skipper and Dipper, heading for the staircase with far slower and angrier steps. Makara watched him the whole time, unable to look away. She had never seen the carefree persona of the hare broken so thoroughly, not even when he'd received the big letter from a Sparra courier.

Skipper didn't await a nod from the Abbess to begin following Ortho, otter disappearing down the staircase shortly after the hare. Makara let out part of the breath she hadn't known she was holding, feeling Krosah nearby do the exact same thing. Dipper moved back to rejoin them after once last flitting look at the stairs, one claw playing over his dagger hilt.

The Abbess sighed, pinching her muzzle between her fingers and rubbing before she looked up and approached the walltop once more. Far below on the ground were the gathered haggard figures, those both in sight and presumably hiding. She turned to face the other Redwallers again.

"Let's get this finished, shall we?"


	5. Chapter 5

Without Ortho around, it seemed some of the frayed tension on the walltop disappeared. It wasn't enough to calm Makara or get rid of the grim curtain hanging over her head, but it was something.

Once she'd looked over the beasts, the Abbess turned to Farflit and Dipper again, determination in her green eyes. Krosah and Makara hung close, everybeast forming a loose circle around the Abbess.

"You've both said letting them in is out of the question," Abbess Petranka said, looking at the fox and weasel, "but we do need to extend some hospitality."

Dipper was looking back with focus, not exactly pleased with what he was hearing, and a sour expression was playing over Farflit's face as he glanced at the empty stair archway and the spot of the absent Ortho. It was vanished within seconds, grey fox controlling himself again. Both vermin were listening to the Abbess intently, and Makara found she was clinging onto every word like they were a lifeline. The squirrelmaid gave her head a little shake and attempted to get rid of the clinging feelings, making Krosah tense beside her. The Abbess continued.

"Is it possible to deliver them food via the walltops to soothe their last days? The Sparra could drop packages if necessary."

Dipper grunted in dismissal. "Abbess, feedin' scavengers makes the skitterin' cowards stick closer," he said, eyeing the group with knowing disgust, "especially when 'ey know there's a meal. You don't want ta keep 'em closer ta the Abbey like a bunch of stinkin' crows."

"Agreed," Farflit said.

The Abbess's expression twisted in displeasure, but Makara could see the sad determination on her face even before she laid a paw on the walltop and turned towards the crowd below.

"So there's no helping it, then," the Abbess said quietly. Her paws clenched into soft fists where they rested on the stone and by her side, habit sleeves looking like they wished to swallow them up.

Krosah sucked in a breath, and Makara felt him shudder next to her. She found herself laying a paw on his shoulder and squeezing to keep him in place. The realization of what they were about to do to with the lives of an entire group of dying beasts below— both vermin and woodlander— made a heavy ball grow in the bottom of Makara's innards, one that wriggled and squirming with its growing mass. They were about to make some other beast's trip to the Dark Forest Gates a little shorter. And it didn't feel right to be holding that kind of power.

The Abbess lifted her head up higher, face steeling, and Makara saw some of the triumph and irritancy at something vanish from Farflit's face. She found herself straightening up with her, fingers digging into Krosah's shoulder. There was still hope for something else.

"I'm going to speak to them," the Abbess said, making it a statement rather than anything questionable. Dipper twitched at her words but said nothing. "Then I'm going to decide on whether or not to feed them. They at least deserve to be judged personally instead of through somebeast else."

A fair choice, Makara thought, lingering near Abbess Petranka as she softly cleared her throat and moved both her aged paws to the walltop. If the beasts below were really as crazy and far-gone as Redwall's vermin believed, then there wouldn't be any indecision about leaving them outside to die. At least not as much as before.

Farflit seemed to begrudgingly think the same, fox's jaw clenching for a moment before he shifted closer to Dipper. The weasel said nothing, hesitating before giving the Abbess a quick nod. She nodded back before turning to the walltop again and peering over the edge. This time, Makara could see the half-cloaked beast starting to look up.

"Excuse me," Abbess Petranka said, raising her voice, "but you're at the gates of Redwall Abbey. Which one of you is leader of the group, and how may we help you?"

The instant the Abbess's polite words drifted down through the treetops to the beasts below, it was if they'd thrown boiling water into the crowd. Several of the beasts jumped in their places, torn fur on end, only to land with a stumble and begin frantically looking around. More than one string of saliva leaked out from a hood and snapped at their erratic movements, some of the more hunched and emaciated looking beasts growling and cursing at each other with slurred words Makara could barely hear or understand. To the squirrelmaid's appall, she saw muzzles being raised and scarred noses twitching, some covered in red speckles of cuts. Trying to sniff them out.

There was a quiet growl from Farflit, pushing up out of his throat before he could control it, and Makara had the feeling the fox was torn between being smug and angry. She herself found anger rising like a ball of bile in her throat as Farflit disapprovingly looked over the Abbess leaning on the walltop. This was all an arrangement to him, Makara realized, suddenly wanting Ruae's cane to smack him with. Calling the erratic Ortho up, positioning them all around the Abbess… all he'd wanted was to put them in places like a holt otter displaying a rack of fish for sale. It was all a show to flaunt the power of Redwall and drive away the beasts below, and Farflit had been thinking of it long before anybeast else. Clever yet inconsiderate of other's feelings… that was just like him.

Makara shot Farflit a dirty look, just wanting him to shut up and the growl to die away. Dipper glanced at him before focusing on the Abbess and scrambling group below again, and Krosah tensely moved a step closer to Makara, keeping his eyes on the two vermin. He wasn't sure where to be watching, but his tail bristled as they all heard a snarl float through the trees below, and Krosah whirled around to stare at the poised and surprised looking Abbess.

It looked as if a brawl was going to break out in the crowd below, tension screaming like a fiddle being sawed on with a briar, but the half-cloaked beast who'd spoken to Krosah shoved two short and tall figures away from each other. He gave a quiet growl to both of them, hood shaking rapidly as the rest of the group peeled away from him and each other. It took Makara a moment to realize he was speaking quickly, jaw moving his whole battered hood. He straightened and moved to the front of the group as the visible beasts behind pulled their rags closer to them or stood limply in their places.

"I am," he said. Makara frowned as she couldn't tell what mustelid he was, rudder— if he had one— hidden away behind him, and bandages tied up the length of his slender waist. All of them were dirtied and slightly torn, and the tufts of brown fur they could see poking out of his organized rags told nothing of his species. He still looked cleaner than several of the beasts around him, though the bearing of composure and pride in his stance was crooked. "Abbess of Redwall, we have come to claim sanctuary and treatment for our sickness and starvation."

He sounded of a smooth voice that had a crack in it somewhere, Makara thought, Krosah making a quiet noise at his words that the squirrelmaid couldn't understand. The Abbess was unfazed.

"I see that your whole group does need infirmary attention… what do they suffer from?" Abbess Petranka said, looking down with an elderly look of concern, as if she had no idea what was wrong with the crowd. The side of Dipper's mouth twitched again, but Makara had a feeling it was to hold back a grim smile this time. She tried to mimic the same look of concern as the Abbess as she leaned closer, Krosah moving with her. "And what's your name? I'm Abbess Petranka…" she lightly gestured her paw, tilting her head up, and Makara realized the mouse was looking at her. She forced away the startled feeling and stepped even closer to the walltop.

"I'm Makara," she said, piling on the generosity with a soft nod of her head. No other words for the situation came to her mouth, and the squirrelmaid stepped back, feeling more than one set of eyes on her. She could hardly say 'nice to meet you' in this position, Makara thought. The hooded head below seemed to be judging her every word.

Krosah stepped forward and saved her from having to say anything else. "Krosah here," he said, giving a short wave. "Sorry I didn't get your name before; had a jittery beast up on the walltop."

Dipper momentarily bit his tongue at Krosah's introduction, looking as if he was going to say something scathing, but his face cleared with the same deceptive speed of Farflit. Makara was starting to believe that all vermin but Ashtip could warp and hide their emotions. Dipper briefly thumped his fist against his chest as he looked down at the gathered beasts, tilt of his muzzle making it seem like he smelled a hint of something rotten below his nose, something not worth looking at.

"Dipper," he said flatly. The half-cloaked beast looked up with more interest, taking in the weasel. Some of the figures around him sourly muttered things to each other, a few stepping closer as they saw the vermin on the walltop for what he was. Spines rose on the back of a startled hedgehog, giving his species away, and a sharp-muzzled beast next to him with yellowed bandages wrapped around its arms said something in triumph while pointing a chewed claw at Dipper. This didn't go unnoticed by the weasel.

"Must've thought he was an otter or didn't get the news that Redwall lets vermin in now," Krosah whispered to Makara. He refused to look at Dipper, though the weasel's ears were perked and listening in.

The squirrelmaid neatly straightened her apron, trying to force the motion to look natural. "Probably," she said under her breath. "Though traveling in a crowd like that, he shouldn't be worrying about vermin…"

"Species doesn't count when you've got the White Madness; every'un turns inta walkin' an' slaverin' bags of teeth," Dipper said, voice low as he spoke only to Makara, looking past Krosah before he glanced at the beast which had pointed at him. His attention stayed on them for less than a moment before it moved on, but the weasel stepped forward right next to an uncomfortable Krosah and aggressively leaned forward, daring anybeast below to say something about his presence at Redwall.

Beside the Abbess, Farflit coldly stepped up to introduce himself, looking an icy kind of civil. Jessy would be ashamed of his unwelcoming attitude. "Farflit," he said, copying Dipper's brusque manners. There was a sense of forced apathy to his tone, grey fox not bothering to get closer to the walltop edge as a few whispers among the group spread like they had with the reveal of Dipper.

The half-cloaked beast below reached up with long curved claws, half of them on his right paw unnaturally clear and white as they gripped the edges of his hood. The rest were dark, almost black. Makara herself had a set of wicked crescent claws, thin and meant for climbing and catching tree bark, but she'd never seen any like those on an otter. Dipper kept his claws filed down to blunt nubs. The only thing she could compare these to was Ashtip's.

The hood was pulled down, ragged cloak shifting over his back, and the once-sleek face of a stoat was peering up at them, calm and regal through the heavy circles of exhaustion underneath his eyes. A nasty chunk was taken out of his right ear, stump looking swollen and reddened. Some of the more conscious beasts seemed to fidget around him, woodlander and vermin alike, and Makara realized that were all crowding together once more. As if they were trapped by the forest and other things surrounding them.

"Sonor Whiteclaw," the stoat said, turning his nose so that he looked at all of the Redwallers watching him. He almost looked ready to flounce his cloak in greeting like an actor taken to the stage. "My companions would introduce themselves, but the sickness has been hard on their throats. Some have been made mute."

"Liar," Farflit whispered, his torn ear pulling back. Makara had to struggle to keep herself from looking at his face, crawling hate in the grey fox's voice making her spine shudder. His words were for his fellow Redwallers on the walltop and nobeast more. She tried not to imagine Jessy hearing him this way. "They're so bloody gone out of their minds they don't know what words _are_ anymore."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the Abbess said softly. "How many are among your group, Sonor? Do you know what they're sick with?"

Despite the soft tone, the Abbess was insistent in pushing her questions. Seeing Sonor had just slipped past with only answering part of one, Makara was hoping that the whole conversation wouldn't turn into a game of half-answers and implied lies. For somebeast supposedly infected by a disease that rotted and ate the mind like a worm in an apple, Sonor was quite lucid. Thin and worn perhaps, but lucid. As for the others… Makara thought, watching Sonor raise up his paws in a plea with his head still tucked over his throat, as if wary of revealing it. Guilt rolled inside her. She could believe the other drooling and hidden ones were sick, but what if Redwall was forced to leave the sane and suffering outside with them?

Krosah looked similarly uncomfortable, tail beginning to wave nervously despite the warning look Farflit gave him. The grey fox still wanted their façade and little display of power up. Ortho was gone along with Skipper, which had ruined some of it, but neither of the vermin would be rolling their bellies up for what they considered the disgusting threats outside. The heat on the red walltop stone pounded underneath Makara's feet, fur hot and skin pinching against her— especially underneath her dress and apron— and as the suffocating breeze brought no scent of the summer forest to her nose, bright sun mercilessly lining everything out, she was half-wishing she'd gone with Ortho.

At least Makara now knew how he felt when he'd had his outburst and stomped down the stairs.

"I am not sure what everybeast here has— some are sicker than others— though most of them have heavy cases of Dryditch Fever. Combine it with the other diseases, and it's made some… _noticeable _sores or scars," Sonor said, apologetically looking at his cloak and the various wraps those around him were wearing. "Somebeasts don't like to reveal themselves this way. My whole group is around me, Abbess," Sonor said, lowering his paws to his sides again and watching the elderly mouse intently. His eyes were forced wide with an exhausted pretense of innocence. "We are both woodlander and vermin, neither worse than the other. We need entry to Redwall and treatment… please."

Something cracked in the stoat's voice at the end. The sympathy Makara felt for it was crushed when she heard the double meaning behind his words. _'My whole group is around me, Abbess.'_ Oh, it was, Makara thought, hardening her heart. Just not where they could see them clearly and hidden among the trees, according to Skipper and Dipper. And once the Abbess gave them permission to enter, the whole group would reveal themselves, crowding at the doors. _'I did say my whole group was around me, Abbess.' _Krosah gave a quiet snort of disbelief next to her.

As Abbess Petranka apparently mulled over his words, Makara could tell that she'd already made her decision. Farflit was silent, and Dipper kept his aggressive pose over the walltop side, looking even more protective and attentive with a vermin in the lead below. He reminded Makara of the possessive Sparra crouching over the side of their nests. Krosah stayed next to Makara, uncomfortably crossing his arms over his stomach and not looking at Sonor. She herself refused to look away, sinking her claws into the side of her dress and watching the whole thing. This was what they had to do, and she wasn't going to flinch away from what she was a part of.

"I understand," the Abbess said, and Sonor's shoulders visibly sank in relief, along with those of a few beasts next to him. The saner ones. "Your group needs food and water, along with some pain dampeners. I'm sure our infirmary helpers will be able to find something to soothe your sores and scars as well."

"Thank you!" a warbling voice exclaimed from next to the stoat, making everyone on the walltop but the Abbess jump. A trembling hood was pulled off a shorter figure that was eagerly moving up next to Sonor, the stoat glancing at it.

Makara found herself staring at the sallow and dirtied face of a mouse. His pink ears were pink no longer, colored an inflamed red. Tilted bandages hung off his tail, some of it looking flayed and raw, and the entire last segment was ripped off in blunt stub. The mouse was wavering on the spot with dehydration, a touch of white clinging to the edges of his mouth. Once brown and clear eyes Makara had seen on Ragweed and so many of her Redwaller companions were clouded and sunken into the mouse's face. The hood he had been wearing slumped low around his left shoulder, revealing a circle of swollen red and fur.

A bite mark, Makara realized with horror.

Sonor seemed to realize what was showing as well, end of the stoat's tongue poking around from between his front fangs in nervousness. He reached over and made to pat the mouse on the shoulder as if it was the last thing on Mossflower he'd rather be doing, swiftly pulling up the side of the hood to cover the inflamed mark as he did. The mouse jittered in his spot and gave a hollow smile when he saw the Redwallers watching. Both of them were moving with some of the skittishness of Ashtip, and suddenly the presence of so many bandages and cloaks was explained.

Abbess Petranka was now hesitating before she said her next words, staring at the young mouse and stoat astride each other with a distinct sadness. She still forced herself to remain calm and keep the demeanor of an abbess or abbot, unflinching and wise. Makara could feel a little of something choking her, and Dipper's and Farflit's faces were grim. Krosah stepped closer to the other squirrel.

"Don't thank us, young one. It's our duty," Abbess Petranka said, and something flinched inside Makara at the other meaning of her statement. "We'll be able to send out the otter crew and forest patrol with the food and infirmary supplies shortly; we only need an hour or so to get it all ready."

Both Sonor and the mouse smiled, the mouse's sunken eyes lighting up as he staggered where he stood. Then the full meaning of her words sank in, and Sonor's yellowing smile fading, sinking like the eyes of the mouse had sunk into his face. He looked up at all of them with something less than favor, disbelief beginning to show. The beasts around him shuffled and began to whisper.

"…excuse me, Abbess? Could you repeat that?" Sonor said, looking up further. He was like a more starved version of Dipper with his mouth twitch, and the Dipper himself had begun to stare at Sonor more intently as the stoat caught on to the news. The mouse was still dizzily smiling as he looked up at the walltop. "For a moment, I thought you said you would be keeping us outside Redwall."

Abbess Petranka kept holding his gaze with sadness in her faded green eyes. Makara wasn't sure she'd ever be able to do the same in her position. "I'm sorry, Sonor," she said, taking that soft and firm tone again. "I apologize to your entire group out of my heart, and so does everybeast here."

Farflit's mouth twisted sourly and Krosah clenched his fists.

"But we can't let an epidemic of the White Madness spread throughout a group as large as yours into Redwall. I can, however, offer you enough food and medication to get you to the next place you need to go, and the forest patrol will give you safe passage as you travel."

Sonor didn't seem to hear the second part of her words. The stoat's arms fell to his sides, claws slowly flexing and closing as his mouth opened in disbelief. His eyes traveled over all of them, and Makara could feel the intense burn as he memorized all of their features, including hers. He had piercing dark brown eyes.

"You can't do this— sanctuary, Abbess, we seek sanctuary!" Sonor said, speaking louder and fiercer. Beneath it all, Makara heard nothing but desperation. "It is our right to claim it and your duty as an abbey to let us in; it was the same way the weasel and fox beside you were allowed!"

Farflit spat out the side of his mouth in disgust, and this time, it was Dipper who gave a low and husky growl that rumbled through his throat and prickled his fur. He was staring at the stoat with something more than the dislike and distrust earlier, and Makara could see his blunted claws digging into the walltop stone just as strongly as if he had the full tips. She edged closer to him and accidentally pushed Krosah a little closer in the process, the other squirrel watching the weasel as he took a step back. They could both practically read the look of _how goddamn dare you_, and Makara was hoping she wouldn't have to grab him like Jessy had grabbed Ashtip. Dipper would be far less fragile and allowing.

Sonor spoke up before the Abbess could answer him, franticness beginning to split the stoat's composure. "We have no vermin among us that would break the Woodlander Code, no woodlanders who would; you _can't_ turn us all away!"

Makara realized that the chunk torn of his ear was no random split. It was too curved and circular— too much like a bite taken out. The beasts around him were beginning to whisper and whine nervously, snapping at each other here and there.

Something snapped in Sonor's face. "You can cure us," he said, voice cracking again when he looked at the Redwallers' faces and saw they weren't buying the tale about having Dryditch Fever, or didn't believe the group around him was all there was. The smile had finally faded from the young mouse's face next to him, and he looked on the verge of throwing up with panic. White drool was beginning to dribble from the side of his mouth. "Redwall has the largest infirmary and herbs in Mossflower, you _can_ cure us— you must have something. You can _find_ something!"

The stoat sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than the Abbess, clutching the ripped cloak around his bitten and battered form closer.

Rustling was beginning to come from the woods all around them, undefined figures beginning to rise in the underbrush and giving meaningless hisses and gurgles. Some of those closer by were staggering out into the clearing, desperately throwing themselves next to the group around Sonor. There were a few snaps and growls before the beasts making them cringed in apology and clutched their muzzles.

"Please—"

"Goddamnit, please—"

"We're begging you—"

"Saint Martin, please—"

"Abbess, 'ave mercy—"

The voices of the damned were raised in one nauseating, heart-rending wave. If Makara had been half-wishing she'd gone with Ortho before, there was no doubt about it now. Krosah made a choking sound in the back of his throat and sounded ready to be sick, his face at all the begging and wretched figures below. Only Sonor stood straight, and Makara could read the screaming plead in his face.

_Please._

The Abbess looked more torn than ever, almost on the verge of repealing what she'd said. Farflit stepped in before it could happen, taking a firm stand next to Dipper.

"There's no cure for the White Madness anywhere here in Mossflower or Hellgates," he said. It sounded like a pile of granite being dropped down on all their hopes and pleads, his voice unrelenting. Cold.

Makara felt her mouth opening as she stepped forward, looking right down at Sonor's face. Hate for the decision they were making burned inside her… but looking at the slavering and drooling beasts around the ones that had yet to fall that far, but were destined to do so, she knew there was no other choice.

"I'm sorry," Makara said.

Sonor stared back, eyes going hollow and blank in defeat. The stoat clenched his fists, white claws turning red as they punctured his skin.

"Go to Hell," he said.

A wail began to raise throughout the group, everybeast beginning to writhe, but whenever they tried to put their shaking bodies closer to their friends to hug and comfort, a snarl inevitably followed, and rags and bandages were torn as they clumsily pushed each other away with madness in their veins. More than one look of desperate hatred was raised to the walltop, angry screams tearing out of their throats.

"SAVE US!"

"How could you?!"

"Let us in! We're goin' ta die! LET US IN!"

"_SAVE US!_"

The panic spread, and the Abbess took a step back as more beasts went berserk, starting to rip into the trees and bushes around them out of sheer anger and the death of their last hopes. Some tore off bandages and cloaks, showing death-bound beasts of all kinds below and revealing the torn bite marks and jagged clawing that lined their bodies. Not a one was untouched. A few wounds began to bleed and leak crimson again.

Throughout it all, the young mouse joining in the screaming and thrashing as it all fell apart, Sonor remained unmoving. He stood in the middle of the group he'd brought out as a front, staring right at the Abbess and the Redwallers towering so far above him and so out of reach, those who had judged him and sealed his fate again.

Makara saw something wet building in the corners of his eyes before he spoke, his arms and tail trembling. Not another part of him moved.

"We curse you," he said, the quavering crack lining his voice. Makara felt a shudder run down her spine at the tear-filled and enraged eyes fixated on them all, hating and drowning in their damnation. "Every last one of us curses Redwall with our dying breathes. May you all suffer as we have suffered, and be turned away as we have," Sonor hissed.

After making sure he'd stared at all those on the walltop— from the frail Abbess to pale and shaken Krosah remaining in his spot, from snarling Dipper who was fingering his dagger to the cold and hatefully satisfied Farflit, and to Makara, who was trying so hard to completely meet his eyes and failing as she stood there— the stoat backed away, disappearing into the trees.

At that moment, one of the more bitten and frothing beasts realized that they were crying along with their sobbing, tears running down their faces, and they let loose a feral scream and began to rip at the water on their skin. One flying leap of panic backward and yell of surprise from Krosah, and they'd collided straight with a short skirt-wearing beast who'd emerged from deeper in the trees. This one was trembling with more missing patches of skin underneath its soiled bandages and froth clinging to its mouth. It didn't appreciate being ran into.

In one movement the shorter beast had thrown itself at the other with a snarled scream that put Farflit's growls to shame, all pure animal, and two collided in a whirling ball of fur and tearing jaws. Clothes and skin were ripped to shreds as they bounced over the ground with bloody smears underneath them, froth flying with the horrendous screams and shreds of skin and clothes. They rolled over the ground, shocked and terrified audience on the walltop watching. Makara was unable to keep her surprised scream of disgust back, paws flying to cover her mouth, as the shorter beast bit through the cloak tied around the other's neck and buried their teeth in their throat.

White froth collided with blood in a sick splattering of pink when the beast— the female shrew on top— began to shake her head while still biting down, the sounds of tearing flesh and skin filling the air. Then the rat below wildly kicked her in the stomach, throwing her off and sending her rolling across the ground towards the ditch between Redwall's gate wall and road, and dove after her with enraged hissing and a demented battle scream of his own. Makara could barely make out the red mess of his neck and the drool running from his mouth before he collided with the shrew and drove them both into the ditch.

The blur of twisting and fur and fading screams continued even as other fights broke out in the woods, all accompanied with their own unrestrained screams and snarls of madness. The other beasts made a scrambling escape in the same direction Sonor had gone. Some blankly wandered into the trees, whispering and sobbing to themselves.

Makara didn't realize that the screams from the ditch had gone silent until Krosah touched her violently trembling arm and her paws still locked around her muzzle. The word was suddenly looking more blurry, and Makara's eyes were stinging with tears, nausea gripping her throat.

Looking just as pale and shaken, Krosah threw his arms around her and hugged her as hard as he could. "It's gonna be over," he whispered. Makara could feel him shaking worse than her. She fiercely hugged him back.

Words rang in Makara's head. _'We curse you.'_

Next to them, Abbess Petranka stepped back from the wall with a look of nausea on her face. Farflit reached out a paw to steady her shoulder, quietly observing her expression. Dipper kept an eye out on the swarming beasts below, straining to keep himself from drawing his dagger as he watched the animalistic battles go on below without so much as flinching. There was none of the nausea or disgust on his face as there was on those of the woodlanders… or as much as that was in Farflit's expression.

The Abbess finally found her voice again as Farflit gently prodded her shoulder and Krosah and Makara broke apart, both squirrels edgily kneading their paws or clenching them. Makara's tear-lined eyes were gone, they clear and strong. Now wasn't the time to be breaking down.

"We have to send the forest patrol to watch them," Abbess Petranka said, suddenly sounding exhausted. "We must make sure that nobeast around here runs into them… Makara, spread the message that no Redwallers are to leave the abbey other than the forest patrol or Sparra. Krosah, ready the forest patrol. Dipper and Farflit, you come with me. We have to alert and ready Skipper, among other things."

Makara grimly readied herself. "On it."

Next to her, Krosah drew himself up taller, chasing away most of the paleness and shaking from his face. He still looked uncertain and a little sickened, but not as much as before. "I'll go get Jaspin and tell him to move the patrol out. Will probably have to go with him, too. We're not gonna risk getting any innocent beast confused with that lot."

The Abbess nodded. "Excellent," she said, beginning to turn and leave. Farflit stayed at her left side, giving a quick nod to Dipper and the two squirrels before he and the Abbess left. Everybeast else silently returned it. For once, no snide or blunt remarks were needed.

Just as Krosah and Makara were preparing to walk by, Dipper stepped out of in front of them. Krosah blinked and bristled slightly as Dipper only gave Makara a look and stayed in front of him, Krosah looking ready to recoil from the weasel. Makara stood where she was, ready to intervene. It didn't matter that Dipper had given her another sideways look; she was standing here. There wasn't going to be another fight that day. Not after what had just happened in the ditch.

Seeing she wasn't going to move, Dipper turned his attention back to Krosah. "Krosah," he said gruffly. "Are you on the forest patrol?"

"Er… part of the time. Not old enough to be a full member," Krosah admitted. "But I'm still heading out there with them," he added, sounding defensive and pushing his chest out a margin.

Dipper didn't blink at his words, observing the much shorter squirrel in front of him. "Thought so." There was a clink of metal. Krosah blinked in surprise as Dipper handed him his dagger, blade pointing straight up into the air.

Dipper took care to hone his only weapon, and the edge was wickedly sharp underneath the various scars and scrapes. It took both squirrels a moment to realize the weasel was giving his dagger to Krosah, and the squirrel blinked before dully taking it. He looked at the weapon now in his paw before looking back up at Dipper, surprise and confusion on his face.

"Dipper, you— what's this for?"

"What do you think a dagger is for?" Dipper said. "Don't misunderstand, squirrel; I'm only lettin' you borrow it. 'Course, you're goin' ta be dead 'o bitten if you ever have ta use it, an' the forest patrol's probably got their bows an' arrows, but walkin' out there without a weapon of any kind is beggin' ta get yourself gutted in a hurry."

There was a pause as Krosah rolled the weapon in his paw, speechless at the amount of battle damage and history it had engraved into its sides. His face was a dull and shimmering reflection in the blade's silver body. Krosah looked back up at Dipper, gripping the dagger tighter as he saw the weasel's face.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll… make sure to not lose it."

"There's a lot of thin's you better make sure not ta lose," Dipper said. He turned and walked away without saying another word to Krosah. "Watch yourself, Makara."

The weasel was down the walltop and disappearing into the stairs before either of the squirrels could reply. Both Redwallers were left in the searing heat and dying moans of the fights and wandering madbeasts below the walls.

* * *

_AN: Apologies for the late update, but life was rather hectic while the chapter was being written. I want to thank all my readers- both those silent and reviewing- but especially Guest. Your feedback has been uplifting to read, and I've replied to your previous comments in the Review section. Thank you all! -SL_


	6. Chapter 6

No matter how hard he worked, there always seemed to be more papers stacked in front of him— especially when a problem had arisen. At least he had no window to distract him this time, Markus thought. He wrote another sentence of the speech.

The hare was bent over a desk, frantically scribbling over a piece of paper. He was on the verge of slinging ink with every little flick of his pen, his crooked ear going lopsided, and the neat pawscript that typically covered his paper was more hurried than usual. Markus knew the way he was hunched over was hardly a good posture to be in, but now was not the time to be worried about such things. Not with the Summer Festival the next day and a whole group of diseased beasts outside the Abbey.

A sudden itch of pain in his paw made Markus realize he was clenching the quill far too hard. He quickly let up, clearing his throat and pretending he didn't see how some of the finer feathers had been crushed into a clingy mess. The normally long habit sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, one hanging down lopsided over his arm and steadily falling further, but Markus ignored it. He had eyes only for the document in front of him he was attacking with a vengeance. A candle nearby guttered, making the room dimmer briefly. The smell of ancient and stagnant papers fermented the walls.

Instead of returning to the bright archive room with the window in front of the desk, Markus had retreated into one of the inner rooms with no distracting noises or viewpoints. The scrolls and books in the long room were even more ancient than those of the previous archive he'd been in, crammed onto tightly packed shelves that barely gave room to walk between. Dust an inch thick covered most of the tall shelf tops, sending a little dry avalanche down onto anybeast who bumped a shelf while sliding by. Only a few near the very distant and hidden door were cleaner thanks to troublemakers being sent in for cleaning duty as punishment.

Markus knew Ortho had been one of them before his selection as champion, though the Abbess had quickly decided he was too dangerous to place around such ancient writings— not to mention tightly packed shelves in a room lit only by torches. The entire room reeked of the essence of bygone forgotten memories and writing.

Markus wrinkled his nose, trying not to sneeze as a stray dust clump brushed over it. He kept up the frantic pace of writing, desperate to finish _something._ The scholarly young hare had never liked the element of surprise in large doses, not like his older brother, who seemed to revel in it… most of the time, anyway.

Markus held back a sigh and cringe, the thought of talking to Ortho after what had just happened breaking his concentration. Not only had he not gotten his way on an important issue, but according to a grim Miss Makara, at least a score of beasts had been sentenced to their early deaths outside. Ortho might've been mean sometimes, Markus thought, finding himself getting off topic again as he wrote another sentence, but it usually wasn't intentional. Just the result of a little insensitivity and impulsiveness. When he'd accidentally gotten his ear slammed in the door as a leveret and half ripped it off, Ortho had been the first one out of the assembled class to get to him, squeezing his paws and calming him down from his pained screaming, and he'd practically camped out in the infirmary the whole time Markus had been stuck there.

Of course, Markus thought, crossing through a grammar error— _lay isn't the same as lie; fix immediately_— Ortho had also used his span in the infirmary to skip doing any etiquette class homework, but he had a feeling his brother would've done that anyway. Markus adjusted his papers again, hearing the old desk underneath him creak and something rustle by one of the nearby shelves. Ortho took no pleasure from witnessing others in extreme pain they hadn't signed up for or had come across by pure bad luck, and seeing he'd just watched the Abbess shut out a whole score of unfortunate dying beasts… well, Markus felt some gratefulness in the sympathy for his brother that he hadn't seen him since the older hare stormed across the lawn with Skipper tailing him.

A whole score… Markus desperately tried not to calculate how many beasts were among their number judging by Dipper's and Makara's remarks, but he received the estimate anyway. He dipped his quill into the ink again, face almost buried into the desk with the intensity of his lean forward. Anybeast who'd have managed to locate him and navigated through the maze of trashed articles and wood would've thought he was kissing the paper. There was another rustle a few shelves away, and soft mist of dust rolled from the top of a bookshelf and snowed onto the worn floor below. The nearby torch and melted candle flickered and made Markus's papers glow a soft orange.

"You almost look like you're enjoyin' that, Markus."

Markus let out a yelp of surprise and almost flew out of his chair at the words coming from right next to him. He wasn't the only one, the speaker yelping louder than him and wind-milling their limbs in the air with fur on end as they hopped back. There was dull thud as they barely escaped slamming into a bookshelf, puffs of dust hitting the air as they jumped between the close rows.

"Ashtip, don't _do_ that!" Markus said, turning around in his chair once he discovered he wasn't being attacked. The pine marten had frozen in place between the shelves he'd jumped by, eyes wide and bristling fur just beginning to lie down again. For a lingering second, his expression was crazed and startled, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived.

"The same goes ta you," he said, slipping around the front of a bookcase to lean on it. The wood didn't as much as quiver underneath his flexible and fast movements. The pine marten was like oil pouring over his surroundings.

After Markus had realized it was just Ashtip hidden away in the room, probably woken up after a nap on one of the lopsided cots in the corner, he turned half around and kept editing his papers. The scratching and bobbing of the Sparra quill filled the room again.

"I'm glad to see you're alright after what happened on the walltop," Markus said, hare fidgeting slightly as he kept himself from giving his back to Ashtip. His crooked ear twitched a few times, body more uncomfortable in the chair than before. "What are you doing down here?"

"Investigatin' thin's. Restin'." Ashtip's eyes flicked to the side as one of the candles shown a bit brighter than before, his gaze immediately drawn to the disturbance. When it led to nothing, he looked back and kept talking, casually tapping a claw against his waist. "Which I know you do a lot of."

Markus wasn't sure if the comment Ashtip had just made was a sarcastic dig against him or a genuine observation. The hare chose to smooth out one of his papers and straighten up a pile of them, not looking at Ashtip's face as he did. Whenever the pine marten was more tranquil, his eyes not rolling about the room and limbs not twitching, he got an oddly steady gaze and darkened curves of exhaustion underneath his eyes. For some reason, Markus felt that looking at them might just cause those same bags of exhaustion to appear underneath his own eyes… or cause him to realize that some were already there. Markus didn't look.

"You're right," he said, crossing out a sentence. "I have to do a lot of investigating, Ashtip; I have many lessons and scrolls to go through." Markus flipped over another paper, foot itching to turn him around to face the desk. Ashtip's ears were tilted towards all the shelves to the right and quivering like moth wings with every little noise he picked up. "Not near as much as Miss Jessy has to go through right now, though," he said, a hint of apology in his voice towards the absent mouse.

Ashtip scratched the back of his ear with one crescent claw, flinching with as something further back in the room shifted. His shoulders jumped for a moment before he was still again. "What is she doin'?" he said.

"Going through old medical records and Recorder notes with Ragweed." Markus could feel his neck and head getting heavier, he filled with the sudden impulse to turn away and block Ashtip and the world out, because they were keeping him from all his responsibilities and work. "Or at least they've split the project together."

A sour tilt pulled on Ashtip's mouth, displeased understanding on his face. Without his trembling paranoia, the action seemed far less endearing or childish. "Rifflin' through the past doen't always find you the answers," he said, taking the familiar tone Markus had come to associate with double-meanings and hints to other things only the pine marten knew of.

"We don't think we're going to find the cure right away, Ashtip," Markus said, "if it even exists. But Jessy and everyone in the infirmary is trying. We have more herb knowledge than before now, not to mention history." Markus paused in his writing, quill tip going still on the paper for a moment and eyes silently staring down the words. He wasn't reading anything. "It's better than doing nothing."

Ashtip opened his mouth to say something, only to whip his head around when there was a creak from a nearby shelf. The pine marten quickly regained his typical tired composure and moved closer to Markus. The hare swore he saw the other beast's gaze lingering on something to the right before he was focusing again. Nervousness, Markus thought. Like always. He found his thoughts dull and more uncaring than usual. Something stung inside.

"From what I 'ear, the Abbess volunteered ta do much more than nothin', an' that whole lot blew it off," Ashtip said, something unpleasant entering his voice as his tail jerked behind him. "Doin' nothin' for 'em would work the best for all of us right now. Includin' you," he said, craning his long neck forward. His whole body seemed to defy the laws of balance in loopy ways Brother John had never mentioned in studies, Markus thought. "It's a rare thin' ta see you losin' yourself inta work, Markus," Ashtip said, the hare hearing the not-quite-mockery in his voice, "but it looks like even you picked too big a load. You're gettin' inta obsessed exhaustion."

The odd, almost cruel, shade of mocking was louder in his voice at his last words. It was the combination of that and something else that caused Markus to dot an 'i' and jab a period harder than he usually did. He looked ready to twist around in his seat to face the desk again.

"I'm not overworking myself, Ashtip, and I'm not getting obsessed with my papers either," Markus said. He unconsciously ground his jaw together, looking like a premature stage of Ortho or their father in irritation. "I have work to do, and it's important."

"So important that Ortho's avoidin' it like the plague an' lettin' you put words in his mouth afore he opens it durin' the festival?" Ashtip said, pine marten stretching his arms. Markus sharply looked up from his stack of papers and turned all the way around in his seat to face him. "Sounds about right."

"How— Ashtip, were you going through my things again?" Markus said, abruptly ceasing his attempts at writing. The pine marten looked at the hare watching him with something neutral, neither innocence nor guilt. His dark fur almost let him blend straight into the aged bookshelf wood whenever the light died down.

"No, not at all," Ashtip said. He looked composed until he flinched at a noise nearby only he could hear, eyes flying to the side with their childish wideness before the marten grabbed control of himself. Then he was neutral once more. "I was in 'un of the other rooms again yesterday, takin' a nap."

"Oh, I'm sure," Markus said, making a sound in the back of his throat that would've come out as a snort from a far less polite hare. "Just like the two math books were in the very back of the archive library that day, and Miss Makara was in the gatehouse, and how there weren't any scones at all in Mister Farflit's pocket."

Ashtip tilted his head, making a small noise of amusement as Markus stared at him for a few seconds longer before clumsily whirling around and snatching his pen again. "There weren't any. Not that time. For once, that fox was tellin' the truth, but I suppose that doen't bother you right now."

Markus had already started writing again in his awkward attempt to give the cold shoulder to Ashtip and simultaneously listen, but at the marten's calm words, his paw twitched and ink droplets spilled over the rim. Markus took a quick intake of air before he jerked his papers away from it, already patting the drops away with his paw. When he lifted his once clean fingers up to see the smudged ink, he gave a deflated sigh. The hare slumped lower in his chair like half of his backbone and will had been removed.

"I didn't mean to accuse Mister Farflit like that," Markus said, voice smaller and more tired. "Or to snap at you. I'm just worried. There's so many sick beasts outside the Abbey, and they appeared so fast, and now they're just going to die." Markus shifted his fingers, staring down at the ink smears as Ashtip slipped forward. "It's going to hurt Or— …I'm just glad you three knew what they were before bad things happened. Mister Krosah would have never forgiven himself if he let them in and they ended up hurting somebeast or Miss Makara," Markus said quietly.

One of Ashtip's eyebrows rose. "'You three'?"

"Yes," Markus said, looking up from his inky palm. "You, Mister Dipper, and Mister Farflit."

Ashtip moved closer, dark brown fur brushing against the spines and rolls of the flaking scrolls and paw-bound books. Anybeast not accustomed to his other mannerisms would think he was a ghost by the amount of dust he stirred and how well he blended in. "Care ta try an' put a group name ta that?"

Markus hesitated, mind turning before he sat up more and politely placed both of his paws on the desk edge together with a finesse that would've made any etiquette teacher proud. "You three beasts," he said swiftly.

"Still doen't clarify anythin' for others," Ashtip said, sensing the hare's brief hesitation and refusing to back his snare away. "That could apply ta anybeast. Any mouse, any shrew, any squirrel, any fox, any weasel, any woodlander…"

Seeing where Ashtip was going, Markus firmly pursed his lips and sealed his mouth shut. He crossed his arms, petite paws digging into his ribs and arms with uncharacteristic force. "You three companions," he said, voice stiffer.

"Still not clarifyin'," Ashtip said, moving forward to lay a paw on the corner of Markus's desk. His curved claws rested on the wood without gripping anything, as if he was afraid that he'd be stuck if something flew out of the shelves to attack them.

"I'm not goin' to say it," Markus said, now staring at the pine marten's torso as if doing so would just make him and the question back away. He swallowed down his angry accent, doing his best to keep his voice level and unmarked.

"Everybeast else 'ere includin' the Abbess says it; why not?" Ashtip said, looking down at him. There was another rustle from behind the bookshelves to the right that made his tail quiver. "Do you have a problem with the word 'vermin', Markus? It's a pretty accurate description sometimes."

"I hate that word," Markus said, voice getting lower. He seemed to solidify into granite on the chair. "And I don't care if the Abbess uses it sometimes or not," he said, something in him intensifying as he said the word 'Abbess.' His fists clenched harder. "There should be another way to describe all of you. Something that doesn't mean… _that._" Markus continued to stare at Ashtip's chest harder, unable to bring his eyes up. The pine marten had moved a little closer. "When you helped Skipper Jalik pull Miss Jessy out of the Abbey pond and got the water out of her lungs, no one should have been able to say 'Look, the _vermin_ helped.' You don't deserve that, Ashtip. Not you or Mister Dipper or Mister Farflit or anybeast else who's going to come later."

Markus's voice had a slight shake in it at his last sentence, but he still refused to move his stare anywhere else, almost rigid in his chair. Something changed in Ashtip's gaze as he removed his paw from the desk, marten taking a sneaky glance towards the right before he got closer and rested a paw on the headboard of Markus's chair. The taller beast moved beside of him, making Markus blink in surprise before he lowered his eyes to look at his crossed arms. He was still clenching his lips and teeth together.

"Well, if you're wantin' a word ta replace that, you're goin' ta have ta get workin' on it soon," Ashtip said, causing a startled Markus to look up. "'Cause 'vermin' en't goin' anywhere anytime fast. It's here for a reason, Markus. It's a warnin'. For all of us." Ashtip gave a little gesture to himself before broadening it, sweeping his claws towards the Redwall hall in general.

"'Us'?" Markus said, arms coming uncrossed and paws resting on the end of the seat as he stared up at Ashtip, having a moment where he realized how much older the pine marten was then him. Not old, but not too young, either. Definitely older than Ortho or Rillford by seven seasons or so. But sometimes, with all the nightmare-driven whimpering and clinging, it was hard to tell.

"Us vermin here at Redwall," Ashtip said. "It's tellin' us that once we've got in, it kin just take 'un mistake ta get us thrown out. There's no do-overs for anythin'."

Markus felt a brief pit of horror grow in his stomach at the apparent unfairness. Abbess Petranka would never cast anybeast out based on one mistake. "But—" he protested.

"Look at it this way," Ashtip said, his tail moving to wind itself around his legs. "If a woodlander gets stressed out 'o jumped an' surprised by somebeast an' starts wavin' a dagger around, they get locked in a room for a day 'o two 'o less before bein' warned an' let out. If a vermin does 'at…" Ashtip shrugged a shoulder, something like morbid amusement and knowing coming over his face. "Well, 'un kin just kiss the walltop stones goodbye afore their face gets slammed inta it an' their tails get pushed outta the door."

Markus struggled to find something to say, trying to protect his precious Abbey's reputation out of sheer habit and seasons of growing to love it. Not many words rose to his mouth. "That's not always the case," he said, his own words sounding dull in his ears. "There's records of banished woodlanders as well as… other beasts."

"'Cept the most famous 'uns en't woodlanders," Ashtip said. He gently poked Markus's shoulder with a finger. "What was the name of that 'un Ruae was tellin' me about in the archives once? Veil, 'o somethin'?"

"Veil Sixclaws doesn't apply; he deserved being banished for his actions, not his species," Markus replied. "He was a little more…" Markus uncomfortably squirmed in his seat for a word. "…meaner than you or Mister Dipper or Mister Farflit. And he did make up for it in the end."

Ashtip snorted, fur temporarily rising on end. Markus wasn't sure at what— either what he'd said as a whole or the proclamation that Veil had been crueler than the pine marten and the other Redwall residents mentioned. "Not every'un's way of makin' it up ta somebeast an' fixin' thin's involves takin' a spear through the chest. Doen't sound like the best end ta me unless you're considerin' a lot of other nasty options. Why is it that every 'good' choice for the vermin with 'eads on 'em involves dyin'? Had enough of that already," Ashtip muttered, Markus barely catching his last words.

Realizing how comfortingly close Ashtip was, Markus blinked before his eyes moved back to the hefty amount of papers. He could feel his paw aching as he looked at them again, but the hare wanted the quill back between his fingers. So much work was there, no matter how greatly he was distracted or blurred time by talking to others.

"That's what you came to Redwall for," Markus said, trying to fight off his exhaustion again. He reached up and grabbed Ashtip's wrist, seeing how different their paws were— his clawless and almost harmless, colored a dusty brown and baring callouses only on his fingers, and Ashtip's clawed and sleek, a dark oak color that could almost fade into black. Markus felt something odd underneath his fingers as he held Ashtip's wrist. "Nothing here has to involve anybeast dying to make something better, especially not you. Mister Ragweed is going to have to write about you, Ashtip," Markus said, giving him a smile. "You and the others are making Redwall history."

"Sometimes makin' history en't a good thin', but I'll hope this time is an exception," Ashtip said dryly. He shifted his paw, and Markus realized there was thick line of ragged scar tissue that encircled his entire wrist like a grotesque bracelet. It barely hid under the surface of his fur.

Before Markus could ask a question, Ashtip tensed at another noise nearby, tail flopping up before its fur laid flat again. It seemed to be convinced that there were demons lurking around every corner of the low lit room and discarded scrolls and beds. The pine marten relaxed again, and Markus felt him let his fingers rest against the hare's own skinny wrist. Markus held his arm tighter and tried not to focus on the old rim of scars underneath his fingers.

It had taken seasons to get the fear and wretched nightmares out of Ashtip's eyes, and that had only gone so far. Ask him the wrong question, and he'd be treated to a slippery change of topic or cryptic answer that meant nothing, Markus thought.

Ashtip observed Markus's face as he saw the unconscious drooping of ears and sagging of composure. "I would ask what's wrong with you, but I'm pretty sure I know the answer ta that."

"What are you talking about, Ashtip?" Markus said, reaching out for his quill with his free paw. Ashtip looked ready to arch his eyebrows or roll his eyes. Markus clumsily tried to reach the table with his other paw, Ashtip letting go of his wrist and walking around the chair so his younger friend couldn't avoid looking at him as he tried to write again. "This doesn't have anything to do with that ridiculous 'work obsession' thing, does it?"

Markus read the look on Ashtip's face before giving a laugh. The sound of joy it sounded far too loud, the enthusiasm the shake of his ears and head far too exaggerated. "Oh come on, Ashtip, work isn't making me tired. I work all the time. I'm used to working all the time, for Brother John, for Friar Tribble, to help Miss Jessy out, to help Abbess Petranka out—"

"—ta help Ortho out when he doen't know about it, an' you don't plan on tellin' him that you're takin' on his load…" Ashtip made a sound of grim amusement at Markus's look, the hare crouching protectively over the summer speech draft in front of him. "Actually, never mind, Markus. I apologize for that. Ortho probably does know; he's just too damn used ta gettin' his way ta object that you're bein' his slave. Never mind."

"Ashtip, stop it!" Markus spat, halfway rising out of his chair and pushing the papers aside so the pine marten couldn't grab them. "Ortho would _never_ do that to me. I know you're still mad at him for tying that thing on your tail," Markus said, Ashtip making a face at the memory and sulkily pulling back as the hare got closer to lecture him, "and that's fine. I understand. He can be excessive with his jokes sometimes, and not everybeast likes it. But stop talking about him that way. He doesn't like to write papers or speeches, sure, an' he's a little different for a champion—"

_All he needs is a push._

"—but you bally leave him out of this, alright?" Markus said, something akin to a shake and the edge of a snarl in his words. Ashtip was looking at his face like he'd never seen him before, the hare almost chest to chest with him and staring straight up into his eyes. His clenched paws stayed at his sides before Markus realized he was breathing harder, and the hare was suddenly scared of himself.

He tried to unclench his fists and backed away from Ashtip, moving back to the chair with unsure and darting eyes. They suddenly felt like they had extra weight beneath them, and something was pounding in his chest that felt like it'd been in there for a while. Something which he didn't want to let out. The creaking noises from the right side of the room that Ashtip had been turning his ears towards before had gone silent.

"Markus," Ashtip said, reaching out for him. Markus took another step back towards his chair, wilting further where he stood. Ashtip took another quiet step forward, but refused to invade the hare's space, watching him. "It en't just work stressin' you, now is it?"

Markus opened his mouth, trying to say something, but he shut it again as he backed up and slumped into his chair, looking ready to curl into a little ball. The hare reached up and pressed his paw into the base of his crooked ear, other arm childishly pulling in to set on his chest.

"He makes me tired," Markus said, voice barely audible. He looked on the verge of burying his face into his paws. Exhaustion crashed down on him, and the growing dark circles underneath his eyes suddenly leaped out and ached against his face. "I want to help him. You don't know how bad I do. And make mother and father get along with him again. But he makes it so hard; he makes _everything_ hard. I just— I just wish he'd be able to take care of things better like everyone else sometimes. That or that he'd just _leave._"

Markus's paws snuck up to cover his eyes, hating the words coming out of his mouth, and Ashtip stepped forward and laid a paw on his slumped back. The hare inched closer to Ashtip's arm and the protectiveness he needed. Markus closed his eyes, burying his face into Ashtip's arm.

"I'm so, so _tired._" Markus's voice grew even smaller and more fragile at his final words, he still keeping his face pressed against the pine marten's thicker arm.

Ashtip was glancing at the shelves again, Markus missing the look and how some of his fur was rising up as he moved closer to Markus.

"You need ta just stop workin' on that paper an' get more rest," Ashtip said, looking down at him. Markus took a long breath before pulling his head away, sitting up normally again. He felt like he'd gotten something sour that didn't belong to him out. "_Every'un_ would understand."

Markus was kneading his eyes with his knuckles as Ashtip put an odd amount of emphasis on the word, hare too tired to be puzzled. He chalked it up to one of the pine marten's quirks.

A few seconds later, Markus was about to say something when he heard the creaking of old wood a few shelves away and loud footsteps padding across the floor. Startled, he quickly made himself sit up, tiredness and fragility hidden away. Ashtip's paw had fallen from Markus's back at his movements, but the pine marten still stayed close.

Markus was debating whether to grab his quill or not when Ortho came around the corner of the shelf to the right, and his innards seized up on him.

_Ortho had somehow managed to tail him into the room, and he'd been behind the shelves. _Markus felt like he was going to start hyperventilating in his seat.

How had been too distracted to notice his older brother following him in? Oh Martin, how much had he heard? How long had he been in here? Markus thought, suddenly ready to be sick as realized the answer to that was quite clear. He had no idea why Ortho would bother to check on him without disrupting his work and silently stick around for hours, but apparently, he had.

Markus was partially shoved his chair, torn between remaining in his seat and going over to Ortho to greet him while his insides screamed that Ortho probably didn't need a greeting after what he'd just heard. It was obvious Markus wasn't writing. Ashtip stayed where he was.

"So who's talkin' about gettin' some rest, wot?" Ortho said, the hare grunting he stretched his arm behind his head and yawned, still coming closer. Markus tried not to follow his nervous tic of fiddling with something or twitching his crooked ear. His mouth felt dry as Ortho kept coming closer. "I kept bally tellin' you that you needed to leave those papers alone, an' now even the marten is agreein'." Ortho gave a wave at Ashtip, the other beast's scruff beginning to twitch slightly. "Hey, Ashtip."

"Ortho, what are you doing here?" Markus said, trying to keep his voice composed, but he was terrified of the words that tasted and sounded like an accusation when they left his mouth.

Ortho finished his stretching and cracked his shoulders like he was the most casual beast in the world, drifting to a stop before he got to Markus and Ashtip instead of coming up to his brother and leaning on the table like he usually did. His grin was far larger than usual. "Takin' a nap. Picked a random room, conked out a few hours earlier, an' just woke up a few seconds ago, wot. I was thinkin' that since Ashtip loves to sleep all over these broken beds in the archive, they couldn't be that jolly bad."

"They're not," Ashtip said, giving Ortho a dirty look as his tail began to bristle and press up against his legs. The pine marten shifted aside from Markus to keep the sensitive thing underneath the table, an unpleasant memory replaying itself. Ashtip wasn't going to be letting it go any time soon. "You like 'em any, hare?"

Ortho gave a shrug that was far too nonchalant, his hideously care-free grin not leaving his face as if it was supposed to be glued there. Markus could feel the burn of absolute shame searing his cheeks and making him want to sink into the floor right then and there as Ortho turned to him, still feigning the air of having just gotten up from a nap.

"Y'know, I think the pine marten had a good idea. You should take a nap sometime soon, Markus. After all, you've been attackin' those blinkin' assignments all day." Ortho sniffed. His nose wrinkled as he gave the room a one-over, from its old torches to the rotting shelf maze in the snow of dust and mummified books. "Might wanna do it somewhere else than here, though. Enough bally dust to plug up your sniffer."

Markus cringed slightly at the sound of his brother's voice and the cheerful way Ortho was looking at him. Something in his expression was refusing to meet the hare's eyes.

"Ortho—" Markus said, desperately scrambling for the words in his head to tell him that he hadn't meant everything he'd said earlier, but he was cut off when his brother walked over and leaned on the desk and chair as usual. Ashtip was forced to move away as Ortho firmly put himself between him and Markus, still all smiles. In the low light, it looked more like he was baring his teeth for a few moments.

Ortho glanced over all the papers, eyes searching them. Markus's shoulders stiffened as he thought of the Summer Festival speech, but it was tucked underneath a book to keep it from Ashtip's prying eyes and claws. Ortho gave a low whistle. "That's a lot of bleedin' writin'. How many Sparra chaps do you think they hafta pluck just to keep up with you?"

Markus tried to speak again, drowning in his own words, when Ortho abruptly put an arm around him and hugged him. The hare was pressed into his older brother's side in a firm one-armed embrace while he was still in the chair. Ortho's paw squeezed his shoulder and kept him close. Markus missed the short glare Ortho sent Ashtip's way while they embraced. Seeing the pine marten watching them and being made to move a step aside, Ortho stretched his smile farther like he was bearing his teeth in victory before the look disappeared, he getting even nearer to his younger brother.

Markus blinked as Ortho looked down at him, something briefly softening in his expression before he let go of Markus's shoulder and ruffled his headfur. "You should haul your bob-tail outta the archives an' actually breathe, wot." The strain came back into Ortho's smile as he moved away and glanced at Ashtip, who was watching both of them and not moving any farther away. Markus could feel the warmth from being pressed into his brother's side fading. "Not now, though. Don't want to interrupt this blinkin' important talk with Ashtip. That'd be bloody rude, wot."

Markus saw the look on his brother's face again, and he tried to reach out and grab him, arm barely leaving the seat before Ortho brushed past. The older hare didn't even look at the gesture.

"Ortho, wait—"

"See you later, Markus," Ortho said, giving an offhanded wave as he went for the door. A few shelves quivered around his broader shoulders pushing through, but he wasn't stomping the dust up like the previous time he'd retrieved Markus from an archive room, despite the layers of it here being thicker. "Time to go make sure Skipper didn't blow out a jolly vein."

Ortho disappeared into the rows of shelves before Markus could get out another 'wait.' A few moments later, hare and marten heard the sound of footsteps fading, and the door to the archive room opened and closed with a forceful thud much harder than necessary that made Ashtip jump. Markus practically sank in his chair as Ashtip stepped closer again, observing the line of bookshelves blocking the way Ortho had left.

"He seems like he's in a twist over somethin'," Ashtip said dryly. Markus jerked his head up out of his miserable reverie to see the studious expression on Ashtip's face as looked where Ortho had gone. Had he been crueler, he would have looked entertained.

Markus slowly put on a paw on the desk, pushing himself up and looking at Ashtip as something in his head clicked. The staring, the flinching, all the ear turning towards the right…

"You knew he was there the whole time, didn't you?" Markus said. Ashtip glanced at him before his eyes widened in an all too familiar look of surprise, hazel and brown alike looking almost innocent.

"What? No. Not at all," Ashtip said, laying one of his paws against his leg. Markus felt like throwing his entire pile of books across the room.

"Stop lying; you did," Markus said, glaring at the pine marten as he got up. The hare paused, struggling with his inner feelings before he decided that leaving the chair and getting in Ashtip's face would be a bad idea. He collapsed back down on it, groaning and clutching his temples with his elbows resting on his knees.

"Ashtip, why would you DO that? Oh Martin, he heard everything," Markus said, anger vanishing and tone almost becoming a squeak as he buried his head further into his paws. He wanted to curl up in a heated ball of shame and never come out to face the world again. "What I am going to say?"

"Nothin'," Ashtip said, moving closer again and putting a comforting paw on Markus's shoulder. The hare shrugged his paw away and gave him a glare, face flushed. Ashtip lowered his paw to his side and didn't try the action again. "You've already said what you need to; why apologize for it? Your older brother was just gettin' a lesson. 'Sides, that's the thin' about 'ardheaded woodlanders," Ashtip said, loosely crossing his arms. Markus looked up at him, curious about the tone in the marten's voice in spite of himself. "Show 'em that they're doin' a role they treasure wrong— 'o they think somebeast's doin' it better— an' they'll go berserk ta fix it."

Markus bowed his head again to rub one of his temples. "This did nothing to make him a better Champion, Ashtip."

Ashtip calmly leaned back against the desk. "Never said it was about doin' that."

Markus stared at the cryptic pine marten a little longer from behind his paws before he gave up on it, rubbing his face and trying to get rid of the urge to melt down in his chair. Ortho was long gone once more, and the crazy thoughts about chasing him down had crumbled away like one of the dried-out books perched on the shelves. If there was even a confrontation now, it'd be in their shared bedroom, assuming Ortho even brought up what had just pounded his pride into shards. Markus felt his face burn further at the thought.

"I give up on having a discussion with you about this," he said, staring at the floor and trying to shut out all the different scenarios screaming and running through his head. The tiredness was shunted to the back of his mind to be hidden where it had before.

Ashtip's calm face slipped as Markus looked away. The pine marten reached his paw out before he awkwardly pulled it down to his side. He lowered his head to look at Markus, fur prickling in a way different from his regular paranoid manner. Markus had a feeling he'd be lacing his fingers together and fiddling with them if he didn't have the control to keep them at his sides, albeit while he was looking uncomfortable and less sure than before.

"I din't want ta upset you. I'm sorry," Ashtip said, remorse in his voice making Markus look up. The pine marten had genuine apology in his eyes, ears leaning back in the way that meant shame or downtrodden feelings instead of anger.

He was only apologizing for upsetting _him,_ Markus thought as he pulled a paw away from his face. Not for hurting Ortho. Not for creating and executing this whole situation before he gave an apology that snuck around more than half of what he'd done. But at least Ashtip was honest about what he was truly sorry about.

Markus sighed, uncurling from his hunched position and lowering his paws. "I know. Please… don't do something like that again."

"I won't," Ashtip said quietly.

Without warning, there was the sound of the door being shoved open. "Markus, are you in here?" somebeast yelled.

Ashtip took off like his tail had been lit on fire the instant he heard the yell, screeching and almost cannonballing back to the ground as Markus tried to keep his balance on his chair, caught off guard by his friend's explosion. The pine marten hit the ground and landed with all the shivering grace of a terrified cat. He made a few hissed noises of concern from where he'd crouched behind the bookshelf, chest heaving a few times as he peered out, every inch of his fur on end. The paranoid roll returned to his eyes.

Markus got off the chair, moving towards Ashtip with paws raised soothingly. "Ashtip, calm down, it's alright," he said, speaking with reassurance. The hiding beast gave a few more low snarled hisses and curses, muttering something about Vulpez before he stood up, spine and fur still stiff. Markus turned to the direction of the entrance. "Yes, Miss Jessy, I am!" he called back.

"Good! I need to tell you something!" Miss Jessy yelled, Ashtip's heaving chest calming as he recognized her voice the second time around. Still looking ready to throw himself behind a shelf if needed and analyzing every shadow, the pine marten managed to get some of the fearful crouch out from his posture. But not all.

"I think I'll be goin' now," Ashtip said, hearing the mousemaid approaching through the shelves with little puffs of dust blooming from the top of whichever one was brushed again. By the way his ears were sticking up and constantly moving to catch noises, Markus thought he must've been hearing her soft footsteps like they were the thundering of the two Redwall bells. At least most of his fur was lying flat again. "Vulpez, I need a bloody nap," he muttered, eyes temporarily glazing as he viewed something only he could see. "Bye, Markus."

"Goodbye, Ashtip," Markus said, the words barely out of his mouth before Ashtip slunk into the shadows, weaving around shelves with his bristling tail slithering after him. He swore he could've heard a few murmured swears following in his wake.

A few moments later, Jessy's soft face appeared, thick glasses perched on her muzzle and soft whiskers. Tracks of dust followed her sandals and long tail dragging over the ground, habit barely avoiding being a green dust rag by a few inches.

"Markus, is it a rule that you have to find somewhere dustier than before to hide out and write in whenever somebeast needs to find you?" Jessy said, giving a cough. Markus gave her a sheepish grin at her sniffling and attempt to pat her nose with a habit sleeve.

"Sorry, Miss Jessy, but it looks like it."

Jessy gave another sniff before approaching him and teasingly poking his shoulder. "Mister Markus, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were teasing me."

"Not at all, Miss."

Markus moved aside as she looked over all the piles of books and writings on his desk, each one piled in bricks of different topics. Borrowed books and scrolls with neat page or section markers stuck in them were everywhere, many of the larger ones courtesy of Brother John, and several Sparra quills and back-up inkwells were positioned among the melee. A few ink stains were scattered over the wood. Jessy automatically began to polish her glasses at the sight of so much reading.

"Markus, are you trying to clean out Redwall's libraries when no one is looking?" she said, glancing at the hare next to her. "There are other beasts who want to read too, you know."

Markus gave her kind voice and warm eyes a tiny smile, unable to give a full one when the events from earlier played over in his in head. "Yes, Miss Jessy, I know. But if I borrow all the books at once, I promise I'll lend you any with pretty flower drawings."

Jessy smiled, giving a light snort of laughter that would've normally felt like the equivalent of a sunbeam in the dark room. "You're a nice hare, Mister Markus." Her laugh faded as she wiped her watering eyes again, dust causing more sniffles, and her smile followed suit when she apparently began to think of other things. "Sorry for breaking in on you, but I needed to talk. Was Ashtip around here earlier? I could've sworn I heard him."

"He was, Miss, but he went to take a nap," Markus said, face and voice becoming flat at the mention of the marten's name. He could practically see the look on his face again when he admitted to knowing Ortho was there the entire time. "He's tired."

"Hmn," Jessy said, considering something as she pulled her habit sleeves up to prevent them from catching any extra dust when she moved by the shelves. She watched as Markus reached out to rearrange a few papers on the desk, gently laying a paw on his arm. "Markus, are you alright?"

Markus blinked at the gentle gesture, turning to look at the mousemaid right next to him who was studying his face with searching and concerned eyes. Above all the other kind beasts he'd met in Redwall, there hadn't been anyone else with brown eyes just that big and deep with or without her glasses. It was if somebeast had enlarged and darkened Ashtip's one brown eye, torn all the traces of nightmares and crypticness right out, then filled it with sincerity and made a pair out of it. It was near impossible to lie to her, and Markus knew he wasn't a good liar to start with. He'd feel horrific if he did, Markus thought. But he could at least steer the subject away.

"Yes, Miss Jessy," Markus said, carefully pulling her paw off his shoulder without much effort and letting her take it back. "I'm just tired, that's all. What did you want to talk about?" Markus then remembered what she had been looking for, and he perked up, interest in his eyes. "Did you find anything about a cure?"

"Not entirely," Jessy admitted, and Markus had a feeling she was studying the bags underneath his eyes and lots of things he couldn't even see about himself before she turned her searching gaze away and went back to talking. "The Abbess was incorrect, though; Redwall has had records of the White Madness. The earliest one— and the one sticks out the most, too— dates all the way back to Matthias I and Mattimeo I."

Jessy gave another cough, and Markus began to rifle through his bag, trying to find a handkerchief. When he turned up none, he apologetically showed his empty paws to Jessy and went back to her side. "Miss, are you sure you don't want to talk about this in the hallway?" he said, hesitating before pulling gently on her habit sleeve like a shy dibbun. He was feeling guilt at all her sniffles and eye watering, among other things.

Jessy gave a smile at his shy concern through one of her sniffles, managing to fish out a small handkerchief of her own from the depths of her habit sleeve. Markus let go. "Don't worry; I have this covered. I thought you'd be somewhere dusty."

Jessy blew her nose, giving a high-pitched sneeze that would've startled Ashtip just as she did so. Markus almost reached for his handkerchief again, but he held himself back.

"I still think the dust could be nicer to me," she said. "Anyway, where was I? The first cases didn't exactly come from Redwall themselves, but from stories the Redwallers got from the slaves they'd freed from Slagar the Cruel and the Malkariss. Apparently, every now and then, a bat would crash down in the slave lines while the slaves were building in deeper parts of the Malkariss's cave," Jessy explained. "The guards would usually kill it on sight, and once they'd checked everybeast on that line or section for bites, they'd leave them alone. If a single slave had a bite on them, they'd kill them and whoever was directly nearby. But sometimes it wasn't enough."

Jessy sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with another edge of the handkerchief she hadn't blown her nose on, Markus politely holding back his impatience and eagerness at hearing the story.

"Let me guess: some bats carried the White Madness?" Markus said, already thinking of the grim possibilities. Apparently, the disease wasn't limited to beasts only on the ground.

"Spot on," Jessy said, lowering her handkerchief. Her eyes were no longer filled with dust-induced tears, but she didn't look any happier as she thought of what she was saying. "All the slaves in the section would eventually start to attack each other and grow crazy, killing masses of their companions, along with themselves. Poor things," Jessy said softly. "And as for any slaves who caught it while they were still chained together in a line…"

Her voice drifted off as she pulled her arms closer to her, the mousemaid disgusted by what snippets of description about it she'd read in the record. Markus didn't press her for details, getting closer to provide comfort. He felt uncomfortable at seeing her distraught this way. But Jessy apparently didn't need it— she broke out of her silence seconds later, much to Markus's relief, giving her head a shake and folding part of her handkerchief over.

"The ex-slaves said that cases of chained-together beasts catching it was nicknamed Deadbeasts Walking or Death on a Chain." Jessy gave a sorrowful smile, a part of her appreciating the terrible stab of humor the slaves had tried to make about their bodiless tormentor on top of everything else in the mines. "Others just called it Dominoes."

Markus thought of what it would be like to be chained together in long lines, unable to escape from the beasts chained in front of and behind you, forever stuck together in one stretched parade until the sickness worked its way to you from the beast it'd first infected, moving up one at a time… The hare kept back a shudder, remembering the positive thing they were supposed to be focusing on out of all the ancient horrors.

"Did the Redwall's infirmary then find a cure for it?" he said, unable to keep the question back despite what he'd told Ashtip earlier.

Jessy shook her head. "No. The infirmary sister at the time, Sister May, couldn't find a solution, not to mention there weren't beasts currently infected with the disease at the time. But she tried, and we still have her notes as a basis to work on. We can reach more herbs than she could, too— back then, the alliance with the Sparra was newer and untried. Today we could just ask one of them to go look for something miles away in Mossflower without a problem, as long as we hand over a few candied chestnuts and worms at the end. And I think a basket or two of candied chestnuts is worth a cure, don't you?"

"Yes, Miss," Markus said, feeling some of the hope inside him glowing unsteadily, not sure of whether to grow or shrink because of the news it had received. He got closer to her. "It's worth much more than that. But do you think Redwall can find a cure?"

"We can try," Jessy said simply. "It's better than doing nothing."

The candles and torches in the room wavered again.


	7. Chapter 7

Ever since the Forest Patrol had taken off and a buzzing undercurrent of tension and whispered worries had begun, Makara was having difficulty believing that they'd be celebrating a Summer Festival when the sun rose. After what had just occurred right outside their walls and what she'd spent all day telling her fellow Redwallers about, it seemed downright impossible— not to mention insulting to Sonor and everybeast outside, seeing they wouldn't live long enough to have another feast or good meal, period.

There was a flutter of wings and bending tail feathers as a small dark shape dipped through the darkening evening air, and she held back a grimace as it curved to come directly towards the turret window Makara had pushed open. The stained glass square hung on aged hinges that barely glowed in the evening light, and Makara could picture the whole beautiful plate of dyed glass and rainbow patterns being ripped free of their holds and sent crashing down the unforgiving stretch of red sandstone below that made up the round turret walls. As the shape came closer, Makara took a step back, her thoughts of the window breaking growing stronger.

Despite being birds, many of the Sparra didn't give her much faith in graceful landings, Makara thought, adults and fledglings and all.

A select few still had the deep urge to throw themselves right through a clear window, and there'd been a few nasty incidents when Friar Tribble had left a giant polished silver bowl outside to dry. Sparra weren't fond of the 'shrewworm lookee glass' either.

But since Redwall was unable to ring their bells to send out an alarm— doing so would call in all the surrounding families for sanctuary, and dragging more innocent beasts next to the infected ones below was something the Abbess did _not_ want to do— the Sparra and the Forest Patrol had been sent out to warn those around Redwall and to keep a close eye on Sonor's apparently retreated group.

There was a flash of feathers as the Sparra tucked in its wings to make a landing, skinny legs and feet outstretched as it almost slammed itself forward through the frame. Hollow claws skittered over the rock as the bird barely kept from diving headfirst into the floor, righting itself from a dangerous lean with a flap of wings that almost smacked the open window and sent a breeze through the turret room. Makara held back a curse at the near miss. Blasted Sparra, always jabbering on about worms or breaking things… they were like the winged versions of Ortho.

The Sparra hopped on the window frame, recovering from the awkward landing in moments. It turned its brown-capped little head towards Makara, assessing her with beady eyes. "Squirrelworm got candynut for me? Abbess I say gonna get a candynut for delivering message. Lotsa candynuts."

Well, he certainly knew what he wanted, Makara thought. She tried to keep her face straight and push away the sudden downward tilt tugging at her mouth as she walked over to him. There was no movement in the deep green trees below the turret, but the squirrelmaid didn't trust her eyes. She turned her attention back to the impatient Sparra perched in the window in front of her. He was smaller than many of the other sparrows she'd seen, a patch of fluffy down sticking out from his chest like he permanently had his ribcage puffed out, his legs two spindly sticks that looked more like the delicate fishbones Skipper picked his teeth with after dinner.

"I know the Abbess promised you that, but I don't have them," she said, deftly jerking out her pockets and holding her paws up. Sparra were ever suspicious of pockets and debts not paid on the spot; it was better to get the inevitable searching of clothes over. "Friar Tribble will pay you later. Did you give the message to everyone?"

"Yes, squirrelworm, did it," the sparrow tittered, his little chest puffing out with unrestrained pride. "Told alla beasts about sick-beasts in the forest, even foxworms who lookit at me funny. I said it was 'portant; they listened— even though I think they were gonna wanta put me in a pie."

"They knew you were from Redwall; they wouldn't have," Makara said. It was good that the chattering ball of feathers had alerted the group of fox gypsies passing by as well as the woodlanders. Maybe almost… impressive. Makara held back a sour look. Most of the other sparrows would have just yelled their message before flying away, not having the patience to explain the whole warning to a bunch of confused beasts. But when it came to the White Madness, everyone deserved a warning. Even questionable vermin. "Besides, one Sparra isn't enough for a pie."

The Sparra noticed the hint of disappointment in her words, giving a twittering chuckle. Despite their obnoxious form of language that bored into Makara's ears, the sparrows were still birds, and every laugh or whistle was a cluttered burst of music. The sparrow jutted out his thin chest even further, looking ready to lose his balance and go tumbling head over tail in a sheer block of pride.

"You're wrong. Sparra strong and _brave,_ that's why foxworms didn't touch me!"

"Sparra sitting in the window I want to close; he's going to get his tail shut in it if he doesn't move," Makara said, reaching for the open window.

Outside, the trees had grown an even darker shade as the sun continued to fall behind the endless spread of Mossflower woods. The squirrelmaid found herself tensing as her sharp eyes spotted no movements on the path or in the undergrowth below, and Makara had to restrain herself from tracing the distant ditch line and wandering if there was another set of bodies within it.

The Sparra messenger had hopped from the windowsill and fluttered over to another part of the bare turret floor when Makara reached her paw to close the window. The squirrel glanced out of the side of her eyes to look at him. The bird was impudently blocking the stairs as if he expected Makara to let him perch on her shoulders and walk him down. His black beak would've been lifted in a smile if he had lips, beady eyes shining and head feathers sticking up with amusement.

This time, the sparrow did give a laugh, it sounding like a high pitched tangle of music. He cocked his head to look at Makara better, as if he was seeing her in a new light. "Squirrelworm got fire in her, huh? Think I like you little better. Squirrelworm not quiet and nice." The Sparra paused, looking over her dress pockets again. "Still, I'd like you lotsa better if squirrelworm had alla candynuts."

"I'd like you lotsa better if you believed me that I didn't have them and stopped asking about it," Makara said, shutting the window when she saw nothing around the walls. She latched it. The Sparra gave a whistle of approval.

How could she have forgotten? Makara thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Sparra enjoyed verbal whippings and any comment that had a quarrelsome nature to it; the bolder and blunter, the better. Their entire society in the attic and rafters of Redwall was built on it— right down to the fledgling's coming-of-age pranks that the flight-granted youngsters pulled on the order of Redwallers to prove themselves worthy to their peers.

It didn't matter that those caught got a tongue-lashing from the sterner Brothers and Sisters or a beak-lashing from their Sparra parents; the birds considered it a stinking mark of honor, Makara thought, trying to ignore the bird. If Ortho wasn't friends with the Sparra already, he should be. They were equally antagonizing, even if Abbess Petranka had made it clear that the teasing antics of the more social and involved Sparra today were a giant step up from the aggressive and violent attitudes of Sparra from the past.

It was also a giant step forward that Mossflower was reaccepting the fox gypsies once more. After being overshadowed by past prejudices and fox slavers who'd ruined much of their reputation as wandering healers and fortune tellers that most of the species were, and then being slowly accepted by the residents of Mossflower again, they had a large niche to reclaim.

Makara would rather invite all of the gypsies in the forest inside and deal with Ashtip, Farflit, and Dipper's passive-aggressive attitudes towards other vermin visitors than have to play peacekeeper with intolerable Sparra fledglings.

"Squirrelworm speak Sparra?" the sparrow said, Makara laying a paw on the windowsill and looking out the dyed glass again. She couldn't shake the nagging feeling in her stomach that something was off. That and that she wasn't about to barge right over the sparrow who had settled himself in the stair entrance; she had at least that much courtesy. The murmurings of distant Redwallers moving around the base of the turret were fuzzy in Makara's ears.

"My name isn't 'squirrelworm,' it's Makara," she said, finally pulling her fingers from the window ledge and looking away. Krosah and the Forest Patrol had recently gotten back with no reports on the beasts hanging around Redwall except for a few stray ones out of their minds. This fact still wasn't soothing. "And no, I don't."

"Ma-ka-ra!" the Sparra whistled, toying with the syllables of her name. His neck extended as he did so, whole body stretching like the music and twitters in his throat were pulling him up. A long tail tapped against the floor behind him. "Not bad name, for squirrelworm. I Warra Beak," he said, and Makara could hear a genuine note of pride in his voice for the name. It seemed that everything about the puny sparrow gave him reason to have confidence in himself.

"Warbeak?" Makara said, unable to keep from raising her eyebrows. "Isn't that the title of the loft and a pretty common name for Sparra nowadays?"

"Yeah, Makraw," Warra Beak said. "But I not named _Warbeak. _I named _Warra Beak._" The Sparra paused to preen at one of his feathers, picking at one of the soft brown spots that patterned his whole wings and back. "When I hatched as eggchick, nestmother say she can't count no more 'Warbeaks.' So she picked 'nother good name, Warra Beak. And there none of them but me!" Warra said triumphantly, spreading his shoulders and wingtips out.

Makara held back a small chuckle at the absolute pompousness of the sparrow in front of her, immediately swallowing it down and feeling irritated with herself. She and the Sparra had never been on good terms ever due to the many petty disagreements with the couriers and since multiple fledglings had chosen her as a prank target— which she'd retaliated against. Not to mention that a guilty, shamed part inside of her flat out admitted that she just hated to hear their voices…

Mole accents were soft and confounding. Otter accents and speech patterns were joyful and heartening at the same time. Hare accents were joyful too, though they were somehow more elegant and perilous— unless the speaker was Ortho. Even vermin accents held their own charm, speaking of determination, cunning, and roughened travels. But to Makara's ears, Sparra was nothing short of obnoxious, no matter how hard she listened and chastised her inward judgment. It just _was_.

"I'm sure there's not," Makara said. The sparrow didn't seem to hear the cruel needling underneath her words, lifting his head up again and puffing his whole body out like his feathers were fine robes he had to flounce and show to everybeast.

Makara might've even laughed if she wasn't put in a bad mood by her own snide words and the sense of frustration and pain, feeling trapped by all that she'd seen on the walltop. How many last hopes had just been snapped off their stalks in the minds of the already damned and rotting beasts who'd done nothing? Who, if anything, needed some comfort before they died?

The squirrelmaid suddenly felt like changing the subject. "Aren't you a bit small, even for a Sparra?" she said, putting a paw on her hip and tilting her head to observe the bird in a mimicry of how he'd been doing so earlier. "And my name's Makara, not Makraw."

Warra didn't seem to care about her comment, a spark of challenge in him as he lifted his head to look into Makara's eyes. "Yeah, small for Sparra. Other eggchicks and Sparra tell me so. Doesn't matter; peck and beat other Sparra 'til they shuttup or toss me out. They never delivered messages to foxworms or carried scrolls. Got no room to say nothin' about Warra Beak."

The sparrow paused, looking at Makara's stiff tail and the no-longer-glowing window behind her.

"And Makraw better name than 'Ma-_ka-_ra.' You gonna speak with Sparra, you gonna get Sparra name. 'Makara' too soft for you, squirrelworm." Warra gave a small noise of disapproval, obviously angered by the fact that her parents would give such a sharp-tongued squirrelworm a name as soft as a worm.

A tiny part of Makara not swamped with grim worry and exhaustion found herself appreciating this, oddly warming to the sparrow's deft confidence and determination.

Not that she was going to be fond of the Sparra any time soon, Makara thought. She dug her claws into her palms, wanting to do or say something to get out all the pent-up mess of feelings that came from telling her fellow Redwallers they were pushing along deranged beasts whom had one foot in the grave already. Ruae and Krosah were busy; Jessy was even more so. The only release she had now was talking with this Sparra— this Warra Beak. And she'd have to damn well use it.

"Really?" Makara said, pulling her her paws to her sides as she stepped towards Warra Beak. He settled down in the staircase further, legs on the verge of having a spasm from standing still too long. Patience was not a Sparra virtue. "So if us 'squirrelworms' come up with wrong names, is there anybeast out there that comes out with fitting ones, _Sparraworm?_"

Warra Beak blinked, shocked and frozen at her comment for a moment. His mood changed as abruptly as it'd arrived, head feathers rising and sparrow bending forward with spiky chest feathers brushing the ground like he was preparing to peck the squirrelmaid to death for her blasphemous comparison of Sparra to 'worms.' His body lost every trace of fluffiness it had before, and a low and harsh trill came from his beak that soured the air.

Makara tensed up, trying to keep her paws down from instinctively protecting her face or clawing for the sparrow. He hadn't attacked yet, despite being a ball of quivering fury and intimidation, and she wasn't going to land the first blow. The Abbess had enough problems on her paws beside the outside crisis and Ortho; she didn't need diplomatic issues with the Sparra as well. This day just kept getting worse, Makara thought.

Warra had refused to back from his crouched position in the staircase, done with his low note threats and staring at her. She'd have to claw him when he came at her and slam him against the window to knock him out, Makara thought— she on the verge of mentally cursing every Sparra alliance to Redwall— before Warra deflated and took another hop forward, happy and proud again.

Another mixed and intertwined chirring of bird chuckles came from the Sparra's mouth in a burst of sound only other sparrows could appreciate. Warra pecked at the air, black beads of eyes shining in approval as he saw Makara's tenseness and her nearly flexing claws. She had never seen anybeast so pleased to have her on edge and angry with them, Makara thought, gritting her teeth and poising herself with the last bit of composure she had. To think Jessy had said _Farflit_ could switch moods quickly…

"Hareworms get names right," Warra said, acting as if his erratic change had never occurred. "'Least, one or two do. Ortho named right. He speak Sparra, too," Warra said, giving a fond click of his beak as he reminisced about the fledglings that he'd lived with in the stuffy dust and feathers of the Abbey loft. "King Dunner like him."

"King Dunner likes _Ortho?_" Makara said, surprise knocking her out of her anger. The hundreds of memories of Ortho before and the events of on the walltop all melded together into a collage of dislike and torrid immaturity. How could he gain the favor of any royalty whatsoever, Sparra or not? Makara bit the her tongue to avoid speaking about the hare. Trust stress to make her more irritable…

"I like him," Warra said, correcting her. The sparrow was pleased to be talking of somebeast else he knew, disregarding the expression on Makara's face she was trying so hard to hold back. The squirrelmaid could see the warmth shining out of Warra's face, as if bringing up Ortho was the equivalent of starting a winter season fire. "Pick me up when I fall outta sky and break wing. Him give me to mouseworm in sick-fix place. Hareworm not quiet; say what he want to, hehe. But I don't like his nestmate. Other hareworm too quiet… doesn't fight. Nice, but like weak eggchick."

"His name's Markus," Makara said. Warra Beak needed to shut his beak. She hadn't heard anybeast talk about Ortho so warmly besides Markus before, and hearing the praise and underlying defense of him coming out of somebeast else's mouth was offsetting. Her world had been jilted the instant Farflit told of them of the White Madness; she didn't need Warra to make it more foreign to her and finish upending it.

Warra considered the name for a moment. "See, told you, Makraw. Hareworms name eggchicks good. Mar-kuuus… soft. Like the hareworm. _Markus_," he said, stretching the name in his little throat to taste it and the sounds he could pluck at once more.

Time hadn't slowed while Makara had been talking with Warra. The turret room's light was continuing to grow darker, becoming dull and blurred in the evening cloak that wrapped around the room, and the tall ceiling seemed to grow with the shadows into a foreboding and magnificent room that mirrored the likes of Kotir. Warra Beak was beginning to look more like a shapeless mass of brown barred feathers and splotches of dirty white and cream.

Out the darkness, Makara knew the sickened beasts wandered.

The squirrelmaid turned her head away from the no longer colorful glass window. The torches inside the turret had burnt down low from their neglect earlier in the morning and many mornings previous. Hardly anybeast came here any longer. Makara broke the silence between her and Warra.

"You didn't see any of the sickbeasts, did you?"

Warra was beginning to get restless, shifting from foot to foot at the idea of getting caught outside the loft at sundown, but he quickly returned his attention to Makara as he saw her looking at the window. "Not many sickworms 'round Redwall," he said. "I see one or two, making jabber and walking, but the rest gone. Didn't see them while giving message to other wormfriends either."

"Huh," Makara said, unsure if she was feeling relief or a further sinking into worry. She pushed both of the tangled emotions aside, firmly deciding to stay one thing: alert. If her claws and eyes stayed sharp, she'd be able to help herself and the abbey better. "The stoat must've pulled them back somewhere into the woods…"

Warra made a clicking sound with his beak, tilting his head down with the closest thing Makara had seen to a frown on a Sparra. "Sickworms loopy. Mad, loopy, stupid. But one smart one, him not stupid. Betcha he trying to lead squirrelworms and Sparra on a big wormhunt."

"Probably," Makara said, remembering the sanity clinging to Sonor's eyes along with the searing hate and desperation. She clenched her fists, raising her head high and setting her jaw into a look of blunt determination. "But he's not going to drag anybeast around; not if any of us get involved. Dark Forest Gates help him if he tries _touching_ Redwall, because the White Sickness is going to be as kind as a plump molewife compared to us."

"Makraw, you shoulda been a Sparra," Warra said fondly.

"I'd rather not."

The Sparra fluttered to the side as Makara began down the staircase, he following behind her and jumping down three steps at a time.

* * *

Away from the scraped bark and clawed up bushes and tucked into the prickling arms of the brush, they could see the evening slowly falling and turning into night. Twisting pricks of flame were already causing soft glows to appear behind the walltop edges and outlining the multiple guards that marched around Redwall's edges. The figures looked blurry and unsteady.

The ferret licked her chapped lips, pulling the hood further down over her face. Briars clawed at her fur and trembled at her every movement as they clung to her in a painful second skin. The sickness had taken the sharpened edge from her sight, among other things, but it hadn't stolen her gaze totally— not yet. She curled her fingers around the bag at her side, not daring to do any more than dig her claws in as if she was trying to rip the material with sheer force.

There was a rustle from a nearby bush, and the ferret tensed, seeing the torn remains of plumy tail beginning to rise from the depths and untangle itself. A strangled hiss and chatter came from the beast curled up inside, its paws lunging out to grab the tail as if it were a throat to be throttled.

"Stop!" the ferret snapped, keeping her voice low. She sunk herself lower into the briars like they were her armor, gaze flitting back and forth from the walltop to the rustling bushes nearby. "Ya idiot, it's not time yet!"

One of the sentries paused as the ragged tail was abruptly jerked back into the bushes, a startled sound coming from it, and the ferret froze once more. Her throat grew even drier and pain pounded along her whole mouth like sand was being rubbed down her throat. The thing that had once been a tongue was now just a nicked and bruised lump of flesh in her that moved now and then without feeling, like so much more of her in the recent days. Everything seemed to speed up and blur in complete agony as the sentry continued to stare out into the trees— watching, the ferret thought, feeling her body shake inwardly in stress. Looking for them.

For a few seconds the world was cropped down to only two beasts.

After a pause, the sentry turned and began to walk again, outline blurring into the near darkness and becoming one with it. The ferret released a rattling breath she'd been holding. Redwall was close, but yet so far off, hidden away from them by bushes and trees and a siege ditch. Now that the wretched light had gone away, it was that much closer. She dug her claws into the bag and pulled it to her chest, rubbing the material against her as if it could save her from everything. There was the sound of rustling and clinking from the patched-up sack as she did so.

"Sorry," a raspy voice whispered, the words barely carrying over to her ears. The ferret ground her teeth together at the sound, forcing down the sudden urge to tear the sack in half and gleefully rip the burlap into shreds with her teeth. "When? How much longer 'til?"

The hideous strain in the tone rose and fell, taking up the broken rhythm it'd been using lately. The ferret slowly tore the tips of her claws across the surface of her bag. Two or three were gnawed off or broken into jagged and painful stubs, and they sent feeling shooting along her skin once again. The Redwall sentries marched endlessly, one distanced pair of jagged shapes after another.

"Soon," the ferret whispered, holding back the disgust and undercurrent of worry. She grew tired of giving reassurances, but there was a nagging feeling of fear inside her as to what would happen if she stopped. She wanted to swat it away like the pointless bug it was. "When it gets dark. Keep yar tail waitin' 'til then."

The other beast, separated from her by three trees and another patch of brush, took a deep and steadying breath. The ferret could hear the soft rustling as he grabbed his once bushy tail and began to comb his fingers over it again, both petting and ripping out lumps of fur that were cast to the ground in fuzzy waves. His bag was untouched.

The ferret pushed herself farther down into the prickling leaves and briars, keeping her attention bouncing back and forth from the beast nearby and those walking along the top of the wall. Half of her fur stood on end as she began to knead her claws into the bag again, she pressing it against her mouth to wipe away the trickle of saliva that had begun to leak from the corner. The incessant sounds of insects chirping in the undergrowth and the noises of the beast close by plucking his tail and murmuring to himself continued.

Nightfall approached in the depths of Mossflower's full trees and mazes of entwining vines and bushes.


	8. Chapter 8

"But Ruuuuaaaeeee, I don't wanna go to beeeed—"

"Enough out 'o ye, cub," Ruae said, grabbing the protesting otter dibbun by his shirt collar and pushing him back towards the bed. Around him, his two companions protested and chattered, wide eyes and grabby little paws tugging at their friend's sleeves and the air around Ruae.

There seemed to be a limit to where they grabbed, Markus thought, seeing their paws only snatching at the corners of her habit instead of the persistent clinging and dragging they did to him. The hare adjusted his seat on the bed and tried to see his papers in the soft orange light of the dormitory candles.

Ruae gave him a look from underneath her spectacles, one that made the dibbuns titter with knowledge and bunch together in a conferring ball of spines, rudders, and rounded ears. They'd all been on the receiving end of one of Ruae's disapproving death looks.

"Markus, yore bein' a great help with yore papers an' just sittin' there like an overgrown cub," Ruae said. Markus gave a small wince during his scribbling, but refused to take his eyes from his papers. Time was running out, and responsibility didn't wait for anybeast or anything.

"Sorry, Missus Ruae." Markus's paw flew over the paper with more scratching of the quill. The inkwell sunk into the thick cover of the dormitory bed quivered with the ink inside it rippling. "I have to finish this."

A mouse dibbun with clothes too long for her arms took the moment of Ruae's distraction to pounce on her again, worn out sleeves cascading over her paws like the reaching fingers of a habit-dressed wraith. "Please, please, please don't make us to go sleep yet, Ruae," she whined.

Seeing their friend resume the assault on Ruae, the other two dibbuns joined in on the fray once more, voices loud and chattering in an attempt to convince her that no, they weren't sleepy at _all._ The otter dibbun yelped as he accidently treaded on the stout little cellarhog's tail. He backed off quickly, the mousemaid giggling.

"Shut yore stinkin' mouth, Milly," he said, rubbing his foot.

_Whack._ He yelped in surprise again as Ruae rapped his nose with her knuckles, Milly and the hedgehog retreating.

"Mind that mouth, 'o I'll cram a bar 'o soap in there," Ruae said, spectacles glinting in the candlelight and making the grey-furred otter look even more intimidating. "Skin 'o a gar sure knows it wasn't yore mother 'o father who put that tongue on ye."

With Ruae's interruption, the other two dibbuns seemed to remember their original purpose, swarming around her again.

"C'mon, Ruae, we're not tired—"

"Not any—"

"Nuh-uh, Missus, not eben a little bit—"

Ruae snorted at the title of Missus, raising an eyebrow at the shyly curling up hedgehog and Markus as the hare's feet dangled over the edge of the bed. "Have ye been talkin' ta this 'un, Markus?"

The otter dibbon tried to move his comrades out of Ruae's closer range, rubbing his nose and tugging on the mouse's sleeves as they bunched around their timid friend and shoved him along. Markus didn't respond, still hypnotized by his writing and the curling of his quill.

Seeing no answer forthcoming from the usually polite hare, Ruae gave him a final look before turning and grabbing the fugitive Milly and her otter friend, snatching the dibbuns by their collars just as they tried to head for the door or the nearest bed to hide under. The hedgehog made a quiet noise and backed up, undeveloped quills prickling.

The elderly otter hauled the mouse and the otter back again over their protests, depositing them on one of the aligned beds in the cozy dormitory. A square black window in the corner of the room was the only part not covered in warm orange candlelight, showing a gate into the darkness.

"On the bed, half-pint scoundrels," Ruae said, roughly undressing the pair and pulling their nightclothes from where they'd been laying on over the dibbuns' wriggling limbs. "Watch it, Nugg; ye nip me again an' I'll smack ye across the nose."

Markus was trying to keep his aching eyes open and focused, tuning out the softness of the bed underneath him, when a sudden shift in weight and tremor through the cot made him fudge up a period. An ink blur pushed against the paper like a tiny black shooting star. Startled, Markus looked up to see the hedgehog dibbun scrambling on the bed with him, furrowing the covers as he crawled behind the hare. He kept his wary eyes on Ruae as she forced Nugg to pull up his night pants. The dibbun's quills dragged against the blanket surface, pudgy arms pulling him along.

Markus quickly grabbed his inkwell to steady it and set it on the ground next to his overflowing bag. He held away his stack of documents, finger smudging the ruined period further.

"Please be careful! I have lots of important things."

The hedgehog's petite set of beaten trousers wrinkled up as he ducked behind Markus, not saying a word. The hare swore he could feel a faint thrumming behind him from his little heart beating away.

"I see ye, Judspike Jr.! Get yore stubby tail over here," Ruae said, looking up to stare right at Markus and the hedgehog with those piercing eyes. Markus felt like he was being speared with an invisible fork that could pierce through all and pick whoever it pinned down. Judging by the way Judspike was shrinking behind him, the target wasn't Markus.

Ruae finished with yanking off Milly's floppy-sleeved habit and pulling a nightgown over her head, and the mouse and Nugg immediately began to plot out their escape on the bed, squashing a pillow between them. Markus felt two warm and chubby paws squeeze the back of his robes.

There was the sound of footsteps outside the door, and it opened, revealing a whiskery and sleek face that Nugg perked up upon seeing. He sat up on the bed and stopped crushing the pillow with Milly. "Dad!"

"Are all you liddle rogues listenin' t' Ruae?" Nugg's father said, looking over the assembled crowd and their wardens. Markus gave a small smile and Ruae gave a quiet snort.

"Hello, Mister Bodeen."

"He takes right after ye an' me's side 'o the family, Bodeen," Ruae said. Nugg eagerly watched his father from the bed, seeing another spot of darker brown fur outside. He paused in his neck craning to look at his grandmother. "He's not got listenin' in 'em 'til ye tweak his ears a good bit 'o mention somethin' he wants t' hear; neither 'o ye got a lick 'o the patience from Cubert's side. Seein' that didn't rub off on me either, I'd say we're breakin' even."

"If he's got the same amount of hard-headedness as you an' his father, then I'm apologizin' for givin' him t' you for the night," a smooth female voice said behind the door. Bodeen pulled the door open further, looking at his mate in amusement as she stepped up to eye their son. "Hello, Ruae. Markus." Nugg smiled wider, suddenly less cheeky and clasping his paws over his lap as his sable-furred and broad-shouldered mother looked him over.

"Hello, Miss Varina," Markus said. He felt a weight moving behind him.

"'lo, Mum," Nugg said. Milly perked up next to him and gave an exaggerated wave, bouncing on the bed and shaking her long stringy tail behind her.

"Hi Miss Varina!"

Markus felt the firm spots of warmth disappearing from his back as Judspike relaxed, quills lowering. The dibbun lifted his head up to peer towards the door, blunt muzzle snuffling against Markus's cheek. Markus reached up, delicately avoiding the spikes and keeping his eyes on Missus Ruae and Miss Varina. His fingers came in contact with a soft round ear. Judspike gave a quiet yeep and froze where he was.

At the door, Ruae, Bodeen, and Varina continued to banter, both of Nugg's parents leaning on each other in the doorway. Nugg watched happily, fidgeting where he sat.

"Are you going to say hello, Judspike?" Markus whispered, taking his paw from the side of the dibbun's head. Judspike's face was a grey and pepper blur in his peripheral vision, the silhouettes of spikes here and there sharpening it. Bodeen and Varina had come through the door now, talking with Ruae as Milly and Nugg tussled on the bed.

Judspike wriggled behind him, making Markus glad that he'd moved his inkwell from the covers. "Nuh-uh," he said. The hare felt paws thick for their size grip his shoulders with surprising strength. He truly was a cellarhog and physical miniature of his roly-poly and callous-pawed father, albeit lacking the booming voice and personality. "Don't wanna right now."

"Fine," Markus said. He could feel the shyness reeking from the dibbun like he was trying to curl like a drying leaf in the autumn, but prevented from doing so by his size. Politeness was necessary, but feeling shy as a cub was something else, Markus thought. He let Judspike be.

Milly had stopped trying to rattle the shared nightstand beside the bed she was perched on, now cheerfully hanging from Nugg's head. Her paws were digging in on the scruffy spots above his eyes, and Markus was concerned she'd slip and claw him. The mousemaid just seemed disappointed her nightgown sleeves weren't floppy and lengthy enough to blind him.

Chuckling, Bodeen broke away from his conversation with Ruae and turned to look at his son again. Nugg stubbornly peeled Milly's paws from his head and let the mouse tumble onto the bed behind him with a soft thump. "Anyway, just came t' say goodnight t' the slippery liddle minnow here before we took sentry duty."

"Dad, I'm notta minnow," Nugg said, scowling and puffing out his chest like he was a displeased badgerlord. "An' are you an' mum gonna come t' bed in here, too?"

"You're as slippery an' jumpy as one," Varina said, looking unconvinced. She bent to scratch at the scruffy fur underneath Nugg's chin and neck. The dibbun clumsily pushed her away.

"Muuuum!" he whined, swatting at her paws. "Don't dooo that!" Markus noticed he wasn't protesting particularly hard, webbed paws only scooping at the air, and he was still smiling.

Varina made an amused sound at her son's refusal, giving him a gentle bop on the nose and stepping back as Bodeen came forward. The otter grinned at both Nugg and Milly, scooping the squealing pair up and holding them close to his face with a wicked smile. He craned down to look at both of them, glancing between the two like they were his accomplices for another kitchen raid. Varina rolled her eyes good-naturedly at his antics. Ruae muttered something about him being an overgrown dibbun, but Markus could see the corners of worn out muzzle pulled up and happiness in the creased edges of her face.

"Don't be runnin' Ruae through the wringer here, alright?" Bodeen said, looking from Milly to Nugg. "There'll be plenty 'o time t' do that later— though I'm goin' t' warn you, she'll probably have her cane. But I bet you can run fast," he said, lowering his voice to a conspiring whisper and glancing at Ruae from the corner of his eyes.

"The fastesest!" Nugg said, thumping his chest with pride and hugging his father around the middle.

Bodeen chuckled before setting the pair of dibbuns back down on the bed, Ruae miming a punch at Bodeen's back. Markus felt the corner of mouth being tugged up lopsidedly against his tired will. Judspike gave a quiet giggle, one that the hare barely heard and felt vibrating in the tiny throat pressed against his shoulder.

"See you tomorrow, Nugg," Bodeen said, he and Varina backing up to the doorway after Markus had taken Varina's sympathetic glance towards his exhaustion and the clingy dibbun stuck to his back. "Your mum an' I have t' go do some important walltop marchin'; got t' keep our big ole family safe, don't we?"

"Yup," Nugg said, bouncing on the bed with his rudder flying after him. He immediately made a tangle of the sheets with Milly beside him, the two forming a fort with the homespun cloth the whole dormitory was filled with. "You don't have t' worry 'bout here, neither, 'cause Milly an' Jud an' me are gonna protect Ruae and Markus."

"That's exactly what worries me," Varina said dryly. Her sable fur had taken on an extra shade of rich brown in the light. Markus was reminded of the different colors of swirls in the surface of a dark wood that had been cut and polished.

Bodeen laughed and hooked an arm around his wife's waist, nuzzling into her cheek. "We both know he can hold the fort down just fine, darlin'— an' that it can hold him. If not, Redwall would've fallen t' the ground the instant we stepped foot in here."

"There's still time," Varina said. "His birthday's comin' up." She punctuated her teasing by looping her arm around Bodeen's waist in return. The otter couple was outside the door now, Nugg waving goodbye.

"Markus, Ruae, thanks for watchin' this warrior while we can't," Varina said, grabbing the doorknob and beginning to crack it closed. "Bodeen an' I owe you two one."

Ruae dismissively swatted a paw at her. "T'is nothin'. Just make sure t' take him back."

Markus heard one of Bodeen's barking laughs before the door closed.

The instant Varina and Bodeen disappeared, Milly and Nugg made a run for Markus's bed and leaped on him and Judspike. Markus yelped in surprise, Judspike letting loose of his back and tumbling onto the bed like a clipped thistle head. Ruae put her paws on her hips as Markus was overwhelmed by the three dibbuns, all of them piling onto him and clutching to various limbs. His crooked ear slumped over.

"What're you all doing?" Markus squeaked, trying to struggle free as Milly pulled on his cheek. Judspike's shyness had abruptly disappeared, and he and Nugg were snuggling and clawing into Markus's sides and giggling as if they were pulling off a heist. In some way he hadn't thought of yet, they probably were, Markus thought.

"I know what yore up t'," Ruae said, looking over the thrashing mess on the bed. Markus was desperate to keep his feet away from his bag, not wanting to kick it. His work was suddenly in grave danger; he was supposed to be writing them and yet he was being held back. A stretched thread in Markus seemed to ache. "Ye lot are still goin' t' bed."

"No," Milly said, grinning and clambering onto Markus's shoulders. The strain in him disappeared. "We're not going to go to bed, 'cause Markus isn't going to make us go."

"Yeah," Judspike said, glued to Markus's side with the clamping paws from before. With Nugg almost standing right on his shoulders, the hedgehog sounded far more confident and bold. Markus wheezed as Nugg jammed his feet into his ribs. The otter dangled off his side, a conqueror of the hill of skinny-legged hare. "Markus is gonna let us stay up."

"You all need to go to sleep," Markus forced out, desperately nudging away his bag with his foot. What if one of the dibbuns fell on it and hurt themselves, as well as squished the papers? What if the inkwell broke and destroyed his— _the _Summer Festival speech. A sudden spot deep within Markus surrounded by guilt just wanted to dump all the dibbuns off of him and tell them to be quiet and go to sleep, because he had _responsibilities_ that weren't going to leave, and he had _work._

Ruae saw something in his face, her expression going odd for a moment, before she clapped her paws in command and pointed at the bed. "No. In the bed, right now, ye liddle vermin."

"Dipper an' Farflit are vermin, an' they don't have t' go to sleep early," Nugg whined, nobeast else in the room noticing how tense Markus had gone. The hare felt his face dropping into a straight mask. Only Judspike sensed something, the dibbun hesitating in his grabbing and staring at Markus's side for a few seconds. "An' Ashtip never makes us go t' sleep!" Nugg said, letting go of Markus long enough to clap his paws.

"Hey—" Markus said.

Milly bent over his head, and Markus felt a crushing weight on his neck as two big wide eyes were less than an inch from his. Little paws cupped his face and squeezed his cheeks, forcing a puffed expression on the hare's face. "You and Ashtip never smack, ever," Milly said, making an innocent face at him. He suddenly felt like he was being undermined by those two hazel pools, Markus thought. "You're not going to start and smack now, are ya?"

"I—" Markus spluttered.

"Ruae, Farflit, an' Dipper are mean ole smackers," Nugg said, wrinkling his nose at Ruae and ducking behind Markus as she focused her gaze on him. "You an' mum an' dad an' them tap noses when I don't wanna go t' sleep," Nugg muttered. Markus could feel him breathing down his neck, developing fangs grazing his skin. The hare shivered at the tickle.

Unfortunately, they were right, Markus thought, his cheeks flushing under Ruae's raised eyebrows and the way she was looking at him. Milly had gone back to being perched on his shoulders, tugging at the base of his ears and petting them.

Dipper and Farflit were always quick to give disobedient cubs a light tap or two to keep them in line. Farflit seemed to want to be close to them while simultaneously not wanting them to touch him. Dipper's kindness extended to only mild terrorization and swearing vigorously at them with words the Abbess allowed under Redwall's roof whenever they bothered him or made a mess. Ruae was… Ruae.

Ashtip melted like maple syrup.

If there was anybeast who allowed dibbuns to eat their snitched sweet trears while they dangled all over him with sticky paws, shielding them from any rule repercussions and letting them do as they wished and refusing to punish, it was Ashtip. They laughed at his startled jumps and short bouts of self-clawing when it occurred— seeing it only as a quirk the pine marten used to entertain them— and he became a swarming mess of cubs whenever he actually ventured out of the archives.

Markus had to admit that he didn't have it in himself to pull the dibbuns off him or deliver corporeal punishment, not matter how lax it was within Redwall.

Thankfully for him, Markus was saved when Ruae pushed her spectacles up her muzzle and got a look that there was no arguing with. The otter didn't bother to move from her spot in the room, crossing her arms with an eerie calmness.

"All of ye in bed," she said. "_Now._"

At the tone of her voice, the dibbuns paused before peeling off Markus and running for the cots, all of them swiftly wriggling under the set of covers. Even Nugg pushed himself under a blanket and bit back a whine about Judspike's quills pricking him, all three of the dibbuns having crowded into one bed.

"You know, Grandmum Ruae," he said, "I think I feel like sleepin' now. Dunno why."

"I thought ye might," Ruae said.

* * *

Night had dropped down on Redwall in a curtain of insect twitters and cooler breezes, the smell of the orchard fruit wafting through the air in a gentler and less humid manner than before. The passages of the Abbey were lit by orange torches burning low in their holders, the smaller crooks and crannies of stone left to shadow or lit by candles. Up on the walltop and beside all the gates exiting out into the deep woods, there was the never ceasing march of sentries and exchanging of shifts.

Markus could only hear the scribbling of his quill, the single candle lit above him providing a circle of weak light in the dark. The hare sluggishly corrected another sentence, pausing as his eyes tried to focus on the paper in front of him that seemed to be melting into a blur of beige and meaningless scratches. Markus rubbed his face with the back of his paw and set at writing again. He gritted his teeth in something that would've been determination if his jaw didn't slowly go slack with exhaustion. On the other side of the dim room, all of the other candles extinguished to let darkness fall, one of the dibbuns shuffled in their sleep.

Ruae had turned in an hour or two after the rambunctious bunch had finally stopped their chattering and fallen into slumber under the covers, the elder otter wiping her spectacles before taking a bed near the door. She still didn't trust any of the dibbuns to remain where they were supposed to, whether they were sleeping or not. Ruae had passed by Markus as she checked on the cubs one last time. She'd looked over him as he still tackled the papers he'd brought out again once the dibbuns had been banished to their beds, something Markus registered as disapproval and something else on her face.

"Yore workin' yoreself t' death," Ruae had said bluntly. She'd turned on her back on him and gone to bed without another word.

Now, hours later, with her and the dibbuns asleep, it was just him, Markus thought. He forced his paw to keep moving, a dull annoyance in him wondering why his letters were looping more than usual and why the lines were slanting like a broken cottage roof. This had made sense a moment ago, hadn't it? He thought, staring at the words running together in their crash of pawscript. The loopy curves reminded him of his mother's writing and the letter he'd been carrying in his bag the whole day.

_All he needs is a push._

There was the sound of a door creaking, and Markus couldn't even feel the dull pang in him that he identified as surprise— and perhaps nervousness; he wasn't sure. There was a difference, wasn't there? Everything seemed half-dead and unresponsive in him.

Markus looked up towards the door. A long-eared silhouette and familiar face looked back at him from the blurred darkness. Something flipped in Markus's stomach that he identified a few long seconds later as Ortho entered the room and closed the door behind him.

_The conversation with Ashtip; the horror and twisting guilt at the look on his face as he'd heard everything._

Oh, right, Markus thought, scribbling another sentence. So that was what the feeling was.

"Knew I'd find you in here, wot," Ortho said, walking over to Markus. He entered the halo of light and leaned against the bedframe. He didn't look tired at all, Markus thought, trying to focus on the melting world and how Ortho's features were blurring. Then again, he could barely make out his own brother's face, so he couldn't be sure. "The otter pair up there said you got stuck with jolly ole Ruae an' a bunch of dibbuns."

So he'd been patrolling the walltop, Markus thought. Imagine that. The Abbess must've had more trust in him after all.

"Yes," Markus said. He kept writing. This paper was a responsibility; responsibilities had to be taken and finished, like his father had said. Responsibility came over everything else.

Ortho craned his head down lower, frowning as his younger brother continued to mindlessly write. Markus blinked as he registered that Ortho had grabbed his paw and kept him from writing. Everything suddenly seemed quieter without the scribbling sounds of progress.

"…let go," Markus said, trying to move his fingers. Ortho's firm grip didn't feel harsh, but it still prevented him from doing anything but twitching. Ortho looked at him with a look Markus couldn't place.

"You don't even bally know what you're writin' anymore. But it doesn't matter on a blinkin' math assignment, though, wot! Half the stuff doesn't make any sense to star—"

"LET. GO." Markus said. He forced his paw down closer to the paper, Ortho's arm giving way in surprise as his brother's fierce tug down. There was a pause.

"Alright then." Ortho let go of his paw just as Markus was starting to question whether or not he'd need to struggle. The younger hare felt himself wilting at the lack of opposition, suddenly tired by the fact that Ortho wasn't going to try and impede his studies. Since when was his paw so slow and trembling like that? Markus thought, looking down at his paper and the detached paws holding it.

"Thank you," Markus managed to say. He started to write again just as Ortho pushed aside his bag with his foot and plopped down on the bed next to him, making him bounce. Markus was almost flat out shoved into his brother's side. At the other side of the room, Ruae gave a quiet snore.

"What are you—"

"I'm not goin' to sleep 'til you do," Ortho said, almost a subdued kind of cheerful. At the same time, there was an underlying tone that said he wasn't going to be questioned or moved. "So make room, wot."

"You have a speech and other things tomorrow," Markus said, protesting against his brother. "You need to sleep."

"As much as you do," Ortho said. He pushed Markus's bag with his foot again, making it tilt against one of the bed's legs. The candle light flickered, now two shadows of hares against the wall and spread over the bed. "An' I'm not movin', either."

"Fine," Markus said, feeling any argument in him die when his body calculated how much energy it would take. "Just don't touch my papers while I'm writing."

"Deal," Ortho said, shifting and making himself comfortable on the bed. Markus was glad he was left pawed; Ortho was close enough to be successfully blocking any elbow movements he'd be making with his right arm.

After giving a few wary looks to Ortho, making sure his brother wasn't going to be changing his mind and leaving, Markus gave a small sigh and began writing again. The sound of Sparra quill scratching on paper resumed, the only noise in the room besides the occasional dreamy mumble from a dibbun as they rolled in their sleep. Ortho was silent. He only moved every now then to get adjusted, and Markus quickly began oblivious to the fact that his elder brother was there. He fell into the world of tilted sentences and crossed 't's and dotted 'i's, slowly filling the paper with the footprints of little ink bugs, despite the fact that the whole circle of light he sat in and his entire world was beginning to blur.

A while later— perhaps hours or minutes, Markus wasn't sure— the hare realized that his quill wasn't even touching the paper as it sluggishly brushed the air. He felt a firm and warm spot against his cheek and side and realized that he'd began to lean on Ortho's shoulder some time during his writing. Markus couldn't force himself to sit up, either. His eyelids fluttered as he stared at his paper covered in cross-outs and edits, taking in the familiar and strong scent of his brother. He smelled like strength and their home back at Salamandastron.

Ortho gently poked at the feathery part of the Sparra quill, almost shoving it out of Markus's paw. He gave a quiet half-chuckle as Markus's fingers stubbornly wound back around the quill again, unwilling to let go.

"You really do need to go to bally sleep," Ortho said, glancing at Markus's face. Markus tried to muster to the strength to pick his head from Ortho's shoulder and formulate an argument. He failed. The quill tip refused to touch the paper and write.

"No," Markus muttered, further drooping against Ortho's side. He was so warm and stable. Why couldn't he move? Markus thought, fighting his drooping eyelids the whole way. He'd stayed up late plenty of nights, writing papers that were his responsibility, which he had to do, but now every part of him felt disengaged and glued to Ortho.

Ortho smiled slightly and began to comb the headfur between Markus's ears and messy it up into the natural scruffy peaks Markus tried so hard to slick down. The rhythmic stroke of his fingers and his claws dragging over Markus's head just made the world blur further. He could feel Ortho's chest moving as he breathed. A faint and steady thrum of a heartbeat was behind it.

"Do too," Ortho said, finally speaking. His fingers stopped their moving, just resting on Markus's head. The quill was hanging out from Markus's grip again, and he had a feeling that Ortho was intently looking at his face. "You spend so much blinkin' time writin', anybeast else would think you're jolly well in love with it, wot! Though if you can't sleep because of the big lot outside that isn't goin' to be gettin' anymore sleep, I get it."

Ortho's humor disappeared, half smile going with it. He looked away from Markus's face and stared at the door, ears hanging back in less of their perky manner. Markus quietly leaned against more of his side as he felt Ortho's thoughts go elsewhere, a grim and tired mood that didn't fit his brother at all working its way onto his face.

Markus didn't always know why he wanted to make Ortho take things more seriously. He did get tired of all the flippant smiles and immature salutes, but when that got dropped away a few rare times and the actual seriousness arrived, Markus felt empty at seeing the furrowed brows on his brother's face and his mouth pressed into a joyless line. It seemed so much worse to see that expression on his face instead of their father's.

Then again, maybe if Ortho took it up more, then their father and mother wouldn't have the looks on their faces as much, and everybeast in general would be a lot happier. Maybe if he could only see the stress and feel it first-hand…

_All he needs is a push._

"Markus," Ortho said, speaking up and bring Markus's attention back to the present. The hare felt a sting of genuine guilt break through his exhaustion at his thoughts. It felt wrong to be thinking of how to change Ortho while he was currently allowing himself to be used as a pillow. Markus turned his head against Ortho's arm to look at his brother's face better, showing him that he was listening.

Ortho still wasn't looking at him, some of the unpleasant and disturbingly mature expression still on his face as he stared at the door. He gripped Markus's fur tighter.

"I know you're used to doing bally everythin'. You're takin' four different blinkin' classes, for Vulpez's sake." Ortho held him a little closer, his arm resting on Markus's back. "I'm not goin' to read that speech you're writin' for the Summer Festival," he said calmly.

Markus felt his mind go blank for a second as he pressed against the comforting warmth and fur, not registering what Ortho had said for a moment or the fact that he knew about it. Exhaustion and something else blocked his mouth from opening.

Ortho comfortingly kneaded his fingers into Markus's fur more, creating two more sloppy peaks. He turned his face to look down at his brother. "I mean, not only is everybeast goin' to be able to tell that all those fancy words came out of your mouth, but you an' I don't even speak the same blinkin' way, wot! It's like askin' a mole to sing a fancy ballad," he said. A faint smile crossed his face. It left very quickly as Ortho quieted again and stopped his finger movements, squeezing Markus like he was scared the younger hare was going to disappear.

"Markus, you don't have to do everythin'," he said, voice low. Markus could barely hear him. He still clung on to every word. "I never asked you to start pickin' up the things I never did, an' I never wanted you to. If I get in trouble for not doin' the speech or somethin' else, I get in trouble. It's my choice, fault, an' my bloody business. I'm _never_ goin' to force you to start workin' on what I never do." Ortho lowered his eyes. "You have enough already without doin' that, wot."

Markus couldn't speak. He tried to find something within him, tried to summon some feelings inside him, but felt like exhaustion and the sheer pain of keeping his eyes open and the dark circles underneath them had been fully realized by his body. Fatigue hit him like a rock sling load to the belly.

His fingers slipped, Markus feeling Ortho's shoulder and arm tense against him as he waited, but the younger hare clumsily let the quill fall and the first sheet of paper slip from his grasp. Ink strands spiraled down as it hit the stone floor. Markus tried to grab at it long after it had drifted away from him. He stared, startled, as Ortho reached into his lap and pushed the rest of the papers out. They slid from his grip and tumbled onto the ground in flutter, landing in a disorganized parchment sea. Markus wasn't sure if his fingers had slipped from the tiredness or he'd loosened them and let Ortho do it.

"Let 'em go," Ortho said, Markus pulling his paw back and slumping against his brother again. "They're not goin' anywhere. And you need to sleep."

"I know," Markus said. The bed suddenly felt soft and inviting under him, covers sucking him in. Markus grabbed Ortho's arm as the older hare began to stand up, still holding him close. "I'm not goin' to be carried again," Markus muttered sourly, putting his feet on the ground. Everything was wavering, and he wasn't sure why he was letting Ortho lead him out of the room, but he was still going to stand on his own two feet this time.

Ortho chuckled low in his throat, and for once that night, it sounded like him. "Someone still a little sore about that, wot?"

"No," Markus said, well aware he sounded like one of the childish dibbuns he was leaving behind in the room. He was practically hanging off Ortho's arm as they made it to the door, Ortho turning the knob and opening it before Markus could so much as reach out. Markus wasn't sure if he would have been able to lift his paw in the first place. "Not ever."

"I'm jolly sure," Ortho said, Markus squinting and blinking as they walked out into the slightly brighter hallway. Torches up and down the walls made their own circles of brightness along the glowing red stone. "That's why you were so welcomin' after I carried you out to that tag game, wot."

Ortho grinned as Markus gave him a punch in the arm for his cheeky words, it more like a pitiful slap than a hit. The two continued down the hallway, making their path between dots of flame and shadow.

For once, Markus wasn't worried about the fact that he was leaving behind his bag and his papers spread out across the floor behind.

* * *

"C'mon, get up," Nugg whispered, pushing on the sleepy Judspike. He blinked before opening his still glazed eyes, rubbing at them with his knuckles. Nugg was standing beside the bed, leaning on it as he shook the lethargic dibbun, and Milly was pulling the blankets free from his sticky quill tips.

"Wassamatter?" Judspike muttered, sitting up and giving a drowsy sniff. Milly insistently grabbed his chubby arm and pulled him off the bed, Nugg furtively looking over his shoulder at the slumbering Ruae. Markus was nowhere to be seen, but the only lit candle gave the dibbuns some sight in the dark.

"Nothin'. We're goin' t' the kitchens, Jud," Nugg whispered. He scrambled around the end of the bed and helped Milly to haul the round little hog to the door. By the time they were pushing it open, tiptoeing past Ruae with guilty and cautious faces, Judspike was quite awake.

"Why?" he said, tugging his arm out of Milly's grasp. The three dibbuns crowded together in the giant dark hall, all of them feeling rather small. Nugg boldly took a step forward, leading the group forward in a tiny flock of pattering feet and nightclothes.

"'Cause I'm hungry," Milly said, the mouse's eyes roving over the hall's arched ceiling. She looked like she'd never seen so many shadows in one place before and was scared of them dropping down on her. It didn't bother Judspike. All the vast emptiness of the hall and dark spots reminded him of the ale cellar his father loved to brew things in. "So we're going."

Judspike stopped in the hall, making Nugg and Milly double up after taking a few steps. They hastily moved back to find their other accomplice in the big and echoing hallway, untrusting of the many shut doors and the silence behind them. Even Nugg seemed cautious.

"Why didw't you go by yourself?" Judspike said, curiously tilting his head. The quiet dark of the hall seemed so much nicer than crowds of beasts and reaching paws that made his belly flip over and face get all hot. Nugg was fidgeting where he stood, impatient to get going and staring down the hall. Milly's cheeks got red as she hugged herself before reaching out and grabbing Judspike's arm.

"Didn't wanna go by myself," she admitted, not looking as big and loud as she usually did, and a bit ashamed of showing it. It was like the whole hall was enveloping her and making her small instead of the floppy and too big habit she was always wearing. Judspike knew the feeling.

"C'mon," Nugg whispered, grabbing Milly's arm and pulling her along. Judspike followed, making a whole chain of dibbuns as they went down the hall. Nugg had been looking back at their door more than once when they'd stopped, and he was relieved to get away from the place where Ruae could burst out into the hall at any time and catch them.

Otter, mouse, and hedgehog progressed down the hall, paws all linked as they skittered around the shadows and looked over the rows and rows of flame on the wall. Their home was another dark and silent creature when there wasn't sunlight flooding the now black stained glass windows or lots of green habits running through the halls. Judspike thought that it was like meeting a beast one day and then figuring out that were different another. Just like how Farflit got all fluffy in the winter and then lost all his fur when the warmness and spring came back.

The hedgehog brought up the back, slower and shorter-legged than his energetic otter friend determined to lead them and the hungered Milly. As a result, he couldn't see where they were going, so when Nugg and Milly started arguing about going up or down the stairs to get to the kitchen, Judspike was completely left out about which turns or stairs they'd taken. He just stood by as they quarreled, Nugg's and Milly's faces almost pushed together.

"We need to go down the stairs—"

"Nuh-uh, no we don't! Goin' down the stairs is just goin' t' get us down to the cellars an' stuff where Jud's dad lives. An' that's not the kitchen."

"So what, you wanna go up? The kitchen isn't with the Sparras," Milly shot back, poking Nugg in the chest. Judspike was beginning to get profoundly uncomfortable with all the noise they were making, squirming with wide eyes and clasping his paws over his belly. What if the grown-ups heard them?

Nugg was about to say something back to Milly just as they heard the voices coming down the hall, hissed whispers drifting right down to where they stood. All three dibbuns froze in horror. They were going to get caught, and that was that. Milly would be hungry and they'd all get the smacking of a lifetime from Ruae. Nugg dragged Milly and Judspike closer to the wall, forcing them to hunker down as they stared up the hall with their little hearts in their throats.

"—don't know, it's been a while since I was here—"

"I know that," the other voice snapped back, irritated and angry. The last tone the dibbuns wanted to hear in a grown-up's words at night. "But you have to remember where the cub's dormitories are…"

The voices of the two grown-ups drifted back and forth, disembodied and distant until Judspike saw two black figures creeping down the hall. They were noiseless, footsteps gliding across the floor like nothing until there was a stumble or two, robes and hoods pinned tight and sleek to their bodies. Judspike wandered if the shorter grown-up with the big tail was a little tipsy. He was having a hard time keeping his balance and staggered every now and then. The other grown-up— a tall female who looked like an otter— snarled and growled at him every now and then for it, but she went all quiet whenever he turned to look at her. Both of them sounded out of breath, rasps hitching their voices. They also looked lost.

Hearing the arguments of the befuddled and just as clueless grown-ups, Nugg grew bold. He stood up as Milly's eyes widened in surprise, the mouse tugging at his night pants.

"Nugg, stop—" she whispered, trying to drag him or his pants down, but he slipped away with a twist of his rudder. Nugg ran out into the middle of the hall, planting his feet into a fighting stance and steeling his shoulders. Judspike felt his quills beginning to stick up, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be in bed with Ruae and Markus watching them. Milly gave a childish swear.

"Argh, worms…"

"Hey!" Nugg said, raising his voice to a level Judspike wouldn't have dared. It echoed throughout the hall like a giant boulder had been dropped. Both of the grown-up beasts almost jumped, whirling around to look. Judspike saw their heads snap towards them as their eyes found the speaker. Milly was squeezing his arm again. "Are you lost 'o somethin'?"

The pure impudence of asking a pair of grown-ups if they were lost while all of _them_ were amazed Judspike. He swallowed the uncomfortable feeling in his throat and shakily stood up as Milly did, she hauling him to his feet and staring at the two grown-ups who'd suddenly gone silent in their arguing and were walking straight towards them. Both Judspike and Milly scrambled behind Nugg as the two came to a stop a torch away. Only patchy shadows from where two torches and their firelight didn't quite blend into each other separated them.

Nugg puffed his chest up, raising his head up and tilting it like he meant business. The shorter grown-up, the one with the beaten and not-quite-puffy tail any longer, opened his mouth to say something. The taller grown-up did something that looked an awful lot like elbowing him in the ribs before quickly stepping away. Judspike noticed that she and the other beast were carrying sacks with them, both heavy bags of harsh burlap and lots of stitches and patches.

"Yes, young 'uns," the taller figure said, her mean voice suddenly dropping down to a nice tone that reminded Judspike of Dipper's husky voice, "we _are_ lost. But ya brave lot kin help us, kin't ya?"

Milly squirmed behind Nugg, getting braver once she saw the two grown-ups weren't mad. Judspike still clung to the otter's back with searing shyness. He'd never seen these two before, and their black hoods filled with holes, tears, and patches definitely weren't from the abbey. Nugg's fur was standing on end.

"Who are you? An' why do you sound like a weasel?" he demanded. Dipper was the only one of the vermin they'd heard to use 'kin't' besides Ashtip, and since the holt didn't see Ashtip as much as they did the very tall and scarred weasel, it didn't seem right to talk about him. Judspike felt a little safer with the outspoken Nugg in front of him guarding like a grown-up. Milly had moved to his side instead of crouching behind him, looking the grown-ups over.

"Don't worry, you're not going to get in trouble," the other grown-up said. He reached up and pulled down his hood as the weasel-sounding-beast hissed something at him. Judspike blinked in surprise as he saw the face of a squirrel, smiling broad and welcoming. The dibbun thought he glimpsed scratches all over his face in the flickering light, and a hint of something wet leaking from the corner of his mouth.

"My name's Benner," he said, crouching low and coming forward to Nugg. The otter dibbun stared at the outstretched paw in front of him, hesitating at the gesture. The other grown-up was tensing and staring at him like he was going to explode in one of the funny jumping fits Ashtip always did. "My friend and I— Lazra— are new to Redwall," he said. "She's got a funny voice, doesn't she?"

"Kinda," Nugg admitted, tenseness disappearing and fur settling down as he shook Benner's paw. The squirrel just smiled wider as his tiny webbed paw was placed into his larger and curved-claw one. Giggling, Milly shook the squirrel's paw as he moved it to her, unused to a grown-up kneeling to her.

"Nice to meet you, Benner. Where'd you come from?"

"Where'd _she_ come from?" Nugg said, piping up and pointing at Lazra as she walked over to them, crossing the distance between torches. Judspike shrank further behind Nugg as Benner turned his attention to him, the welcoming smile still on his face. A sour smell was in the air that made the hedgehog's nose wrinkle and something inside him crawl. Did the squirrel have bad breath?

"Outside," Lazra said, reaching up for her own hood. She seemed more relaxed when Benner stopped trying to shake Judspike's paw and stepped back next to her, his tail beginning to quiver for no reason. Judspike felt better as well. Lazra paused as she began to slip her hood back, and the dibbons caught sight of chewed and broken claws before they were hidden away into the material's darkness. "Ya see, yar abbey is very special," she said. "They let anybeast in as long as they're goin' ta behave themselves. Ya know all the mean beasts outside?"

"Yeah!" Nugg spoke up, shaking one of Judspike's paws off as he stood up on his tiptoes in excitement. It was now obvious that they weren't going to be punished by newcomers to the abbey, and he was too euphoric to care about anything else. They'd gotten out free. "Me mum an' dad are up on the wall t' make sure they don't do anythin'."

"I think we met your wonderful parents," Benner said, not sounding quite as energetic as before. He grabbed his belly, digging his claws in to make sure he wasn't wheezing or breathing hard anymore. "They're quite… brave. I'm sure you are, too."

Nugg swelled up proudly at the praise as Lazra toyed with her hood, continuing to talk. She had somehow gotten closer. "Ya see, cubs, those beasts are very mean ta anybeast that crosses 'em. An' Benner an' I were outside star gazin'— 'o tryin' ta, anyway— when they came after us. Yar parents an' the guards saw what was goin' on an' let us to get away from all the mean 'uns," Lazra said. She let her hood slip off.

All the dibbuns stared in amazement as they were suddenly face to face with what looked like a feminine and masked version of Dipper. The ferret's dark markings across her face were an exotic brand, and her face was more rounded and less angular than Ashtip's or Dipper's. The white and cream in her fur that Judspike could see in the dull light— astonishment making him step out from behind Nugg and forget his shyness— looked like a fuzzy bunch that Judspike wanted to touch. She still didn't look too well taken care of, though.

Lazra and Benner both shared the same beaten and messy fur in places and the dark circles underneath their eyes. Lazra looked a bit better than Benner, the part of tail that was sticking out from underneath her robes whole and not plucked.

"You're a _ferret!_" Milly burst out, forgetting that the rest of Redwall was sleeping. Benner placed a single finger on his lips, shushing her.

"You don't want to wake up the rest of the abbey, prettiness. That reminds me— what's your name? I didn't get it."

"Milly," Milly said, still staring at Lazra. Nugg looked completely dumbfounded.

"What're you doin' in here?" he said, looking ready to come over and pull Lazra's whiskers to make sure she was real. Besides Dipper, Farflit, and Ashtip, they'd never seen or heard such a nice vermin before. Compared to the rest of the population, they were as rare as shooting stars, and just as coveted and desired by curious dibbuns who wanted to meet the rest of them when they came out of wherever they were hiding.

"Yar Abbess let me in," Lazra said. She tapped a claw on her bag. Judspike noticed that it was whole. "What's yar name?"

"Nugg," Nugg said, still gazing at her with fascination. He poked Judspike's shoulder. "An' this is Jud, er, Judspike."

Milly noticed something else, blinking in surprise before she pointed at Lazra's bag. Something shiny was jutting out from the side, curve catching the light. "What's that?" she said.

Judspike and Nugg followed the line of Milly's pointed finger, looking at Lazra's bag. Part of it had been torn, and what looked like one of the biggest fishhooks in all of Mossflower was sticking out into the air. It was blunt and thick, scratched from used, and barely shining. Judspike didn't know what it'd been used for— especially when he noticed the bulge it was causing in the rest of the bag and realized that it had to be a giant triple hook shaped like the small kind Nugg and his family went fishing with— and his confusion further intensified when he saw a coil of coarse rope the width of his paw peeping out of the tear.

"It's a special thing I use ta get closer ta the stars," Lazra explained, looking down and seeing what they were staring at. She smoothly pushed the hook end back into the bag. "Not everybeast kin climb like Benner kin, ya know."

"Yeah, I know," Nugg said. There was a pause. Benner's tail had stopped quivering, and Judspike saw that he was clenching his beat-up cloak hard enough to tear holes into it. Lazra wasn't glancing at him as often as before.

The ferret broke the silence.

"Would ya like to go stargazin' up on the wall with us?"

"Yes!" Milly said, immediately leaping up. Benner grinned and jerked his paws out of his cloak, reaching for her.

"That's the spirit, Milly!"

Seeing him reaching out, Lazra glared at him with a look that was almost Ruae-ish— or worse— but twisted her mouth back into a smile when she looked at the other two dibbuns again. Nugg was hesitating for once, biting his lip and staring at his foot as he ground it against the stone. His parents weren't going to be happy to see him wandering around the wall at night if they were still on duty.

Lazra seemed to read his mind. The ferret brushed something off her chest and flicked the edge of her mouth with the air of somebeast important at a party. "Ya know," she said, calm and smooth as she watched Nugg's face, "yar parents are very brave for bein' up there on the wall. Lookin' out for their son an' all their family an' whatnot…" Lazra trailed off, looking at the torch on the wall as if it was more interesting than what she had to say. Nugg had tensed up, scruff bristling as he glanced at the ferret from the side of his eyes. He began to squirm back and forth as he waited for her to finish.

Lazra tugged some of her hood around her neck, looking at Nugg as if she hadn't noticed him wriggling earlier. "But if ya don't want ta come up on the wall an' show 'em that yar lookin' after them, too, then that's fine."

"We're all goin'," Nugg said fiercely. The otter had drawn himself up to his full short height, clenching his teeth and fists in determination as he glared at Lazra. He was going to march up to the walltop with Benner and her even if it killed him. "C'mon, Jud," he said, grabbing the hedgehog's paw and tugging him forward.

"But—" Judspike said, thinking of sleep and getting caught by Ruae again. Milly was already holding paws with Benner, Lazra closely watching them both, and Nugg flat out dragged Judspike to the ferret's side before he grabbed her paw with all of his strength.

"Let's go," he said.

Lazra smiled. Judspike thought he saw a line of yellow or red in one of her fangs.

"Alright then, Nugg." Judspike tried not to wince or begin breathing harder when her cunning and searching eyes moved over to his face. "Ya asked for it."

The entourage of dibbuns and two adults began to head from the glowing belly of Redwall towards the walltop.


	9. Chapter 9

"When're we going star-gazing, Benner?" Milly said. She felt the squirrel squeeze her paw and continue to walk her along, Lazra following behind with a marching Nugg and shyly skittering Judspike. The ferret's gaze burned a hole in Benner's back, Milly feeling her watching like Ruae whenever Nugg was about to do something dumb.

"Sssh, now," Benner whispered, exaggerating his motions and putting a finger over his lips. Milly giggled, kicking her white nightgown again with every step. Torches melted by in one row of illuminated brick and flame after another, making all of the dibbuns and their nightclothes glow. With their black clothes Benner and Lazra were inky shadows that stole away the light near them. "We're almost there. But you have to keep quiet, okay? Lazra and I can't take all the dibbuns."

Milly could feel Benner's fingers flexing as they tiptoed past another line of closed or cracked open dormitory doors, his whole body going stiff and tail bristling for a moment. Milly stared curiously as he wound his tail around the same paw he carried his thick sack in with the hook and rope, not looking at its scruffy and plucked surface. It was nothing like Makara's full and plumy tail, or Krosah's long and smooth one. She wondered if he'd gotten it messed up by the mean beasts outside like Lazra's bitten and broken claws had been.

"So we're special?" Milly said, picking at her nightgown sleeve and making the wide eyes at Benner that got her things and smiles. She the ignored the way he licked something off the corner of his mouth. Benner was nice, but kinda odd. He made her think of a less jumpy Ashtip or a more casual and weirder Markus.

Behind them, Lazra shifted her pace, Nugg pulling on Judspike's paw to keep him coming along. Nugg had been giving Lazra lots of nasty looks earlier for her accusing him of not being brave enough to go see his parents, but after a minute or two of walking the ferret had knelt down and muttered something to him and Judspike, touching the folds of her hood like she wanted to be touching their faces. Nugg had stopped giving her bad looks and now walked next to her like Milly did with Benner, going oddly quiet. Milly could feel him trying not to explode with questions and talking.

Judspike still refused to move up and take Lazra's other paw that held her bag. He stared at her bitten claws as if they were going to pop off if he grabbed them, Milly thought.

"Yes," Benner said, his claws curling around his tail and sinking into it. A few strands of fur came off as they snuck by another door, coming towards the end of the deserted hallway. Nugg whispered something to Judspike. "You, Nugg, and Jud are very special." Benner's eyes were a little filmed over as he gazed at the dibbuns. A tiny crack and choke was in the very back of his throat. "You're all beautiful cubs. Do you know that?"

"I'm not 'beautiful'," Nugg said, unable to stay silent any longer and speaking. He tugged on Lazra's arm to pull himself up taller. "That's for maids. I'm good lookin'." Nugg freed his paw from a flinching Judspike and laid it suavely on his chest, trying to imitate the eyebrow waggle his father sometimes made at his mother. It looked more like his eyebrows were trying to crawl off his face.

Benner laughed quietly, a low and raspy sound that made Milly's ears shudder and Judspike take Nugg's paw again. When had his voice begun to break and get graveled up? Milly thought. Larza gave him a warning look, holding Nugg's paw tighter. The ferret had just wiped something from the corner of her mouth— something both the grown-ups seemed to do frequently— and it looked like she wanted to get close and grab Benner or say something. But a locked tenseness in her limbs and fur kept her from doing it, and Larza just watched with her cautious and partially disapproving Ruae eyes, not coming any closer.

There was another feeling in Lazra's eyes that Milly couldn't recognize. It was the same as the looks of the grown-ups when they walked over to the gates or walltop to look out for the bad beasts outside. The mousemaid didn't understand why it hung in Lazra's almost-pretty face when she looked at her squirrel companion.

Benner smiled again and looked at all the dibbuns with his now filmy and distant eyes, holding back a cough. His plucked tail trembled in his claws, something dark dripping from the remaining tufts around them. Lazra hefted her heavy bag and over her shoulder like it was a spear and sped up, Nugg and Judspike falling a few strides behind. She glared at Benner's back like was a walking loaded sling.

"You're right, Nugg," he said, not seeming to notice Lazra's not-very-nice looks. "So we have two handsome beasts back there with you and Jud, and one lovely mousemaid up here." Benner paused in his walking, slinging his bag over his shoulder. His brief stop almost made Larza and the other two dibbuns run into him, and he stooped down before releasing Milly's paw. It was the second time in her life a grown-up had kneeled to her. Benner spread his arm in an invitation to carry her or allow a piggyback ride.

"Benner, _no,_" Larza said, cutting off Nugg's eager look up towards her and making Milly pull back her reaching paw. Judspike shuffled behind the now frowning Nugg at the displeased snap in her voice. Lazra openly glaring at Benner's face now with a set posture, her tail slightly bristling. Milly caught a glimpse of the corner of her fangs.

Some of Benner's smile faded, and he pulled back his arm and stood. The paw which had been holding his tail and the bag shook. So did his arm.

"I'm used to dibbuns, Lazra," Benner said, eyes seeming to get bigger with the black and blue circles of exhaustion underneath them. He and Lazra had come to a stop, both staring at each other as the cubs curiously looked on. Judspike got closer to Nugg and held his paw tighter. "I had three younger brothers and two beautiful little nieces at my home; I don't need you telling me how to take care of cubs."

Something deep in Benner's voice cracked when he mentioned his brothers and nieces, the same which had given in when he'd called all the dibbuns beautiful cubs. The edge of a fang showed as Lazra bit her lip, eyes not quite as steady before, but she refused to back up.

"Lazra, why can't Benner carry me?" Milly said, breaking the silence between the grown-ups. Some of Lazra's fur lowered, she glancing at the faintly shaking Benner before he stopped. His upper arm muscles continued to quiver with his tail.

"Benner has a problem, Milly," Lazra said, her voice calm. There was a little bit of coldness in it, as if she couldn't decide how much she'd be allowed to add. "He starts shaking, an' he kin't control what his paws do. Sometimes he drops an' breaks thin's."

"I don't," Benner said. He was so quiet Milly almost didn't hear him. The squirrel looked ready to begin wringing his tail again.

"It's okay, Benner," Milly said, comforting him by taking his paw once more. "I can walk."

After a pause, the group began walking, Lazra making sure Judspike was keeping up with Nugg. They were all now in the staircase, swallowed up by the endless spiral of red stone slabs and swirls of brick seams meeting. Lazra herded Judspike up the stairs when the hedgehog began to have trouble keeping up with them. Milly could hear all of their footsteps quietly echoing through the tunnel.

A speckle of stars and darkness peeped through the very top of the stairs, and Milly felt her heart pound as Lazra's ears cocked, she staring intently at the entrance before relaxing and moving up. Milly had never seen the stars so late at night before or from such a tall place as the walltop. She wandered what it would look like.

The group emerged out into the stone, light flickering from the nearby torch once before Lazra took action. The ferret released Judspike and Nugg, roughly herding them out into the middle of the walltop. Milly let go of Benner's paw and ran over to them, all three dibbuns bunching up and staring at the sky. The mousemaid shivered, her wide eyes shining in the dark.

The sky was clear, not a cloud in it, and the darkness seemed to stretch up and up like the biggest blanket fort in the world. Pricks of light hung far, far up with crisp and clear sides, icicles and shards of tiny broken glass and white light. They were nature's sugar and salt grains tossed up into the air, swirling in giant crowded spirals with no pattern or rhythm. Milly had never felt so small. Nugg gave a dull whistle, unable to say anything else. Judspike's paw found Milly's. She held on tight, half believing that the sky was going to float her and the hedgehog away if he let go.

There was a clank of metal, and Milly blinked as she realized that Benner and Lazra had emptied their sacks. Both of the grown-ups had wrapped their thick ropes around parts of the battlement, running the lines underneath the curves of the wicked hooks and tugging them snug. Benner stared out at the distant torch light and a few faint figures moving in it with his plucked tail's fur standing on end.

Milly blinked as Lazra gave her rope one violent tug, making the hook snap against the stone with a clink, and then promptly threw the rope over the edge of the wall. The long coil disappeared into the darkness and slithered down the walltop side to join Benner's.

"What're you _doing?_" Milly said, staring. There was a rustle of material behind her. The mousemaid looked up to see Benner's apologetic face as he raised his empty burlap sack over her head, a line of saliva and blood running from the edge of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Milly. I promise not to hurt you."

The squirrel jammed the sack over her head and scooped the trapped mousemaid off her feet before she could make a sound. Lazra captured Judspike in her own sack as the hedgehog made a silent squeak.

"Sorry."

Nugg just blankly stared, unable to comprehend what was happening. Soft echoes of voices were staring to drift down the stretch of empty wall. Lazra turned her attention on the otter dibbun just he snapped to his senses and Judspike gave a muffled wail, Lazra's bag beginning to thrash.

"You pile 'o worms!" Nugg said. He snarled and bared tiny teeth as Benner began to reach for him, stumbling back with his fluffy fur on end in fear.

"Nugg, please—" Benner said, his whole body beginning to shake. More drool and blood leaked out, forming two flowing rivers of white, clear, and red. There was a thump as the bag with Milly hit against the ground and the mousemaid giving a shriek of surprise.

"Stoppit!" Nugg shrieked, getting louder and clawing at the air, and he could hear the yells beginning to split through the night even as he backed up. "Leggo 'o them!"

There was a jolt, and the dibbun felt his shaking back hit cold rock. Nugg jumped and bit back a scream as he looked behind him and saw the dark red stone. He'd backed up against the other side of the walltop. He was trapped.

Lazra noticed the panicked way the otter dibbun's chest was heaving and his bared teeth. She also saw how Benner's breathing was beginning to get shallow, his lips being to draw back against his own will with snarled gurgles, and his unbroken claws flexing. Milly's bag hung weakly from his unstable arms, falling even lower as the mousemaid began to scream and thrash.

The ferret lunged forward and nailed Benner in the back of his knee with a well-aimed kick. He fell and wheezed, trying to scramble to his feet. For a moment, he was a hunched, aggressive thing that was no squirrel— ready to rip into Lazra as Nugg frantically looked for something to throw— but then horrified guilt passed over his face, and the thing was Benner once more.

"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it—" Benner's frantic apologies began to dissolve into gurgles and far worse, squirrel's paws flexing. Lazra mercilessly stepped forward and tore the bag with Milly out of his paws before she slung it over her back with Judspike, Milly yelping in pain as she collided with the hedgehog dibbun's spines.

"NO!" Nugg screamed, courage and anger finally emerging as he saw the ferret stand tall and begin to take away his friends with unshaking and still strong arms. "DON'T TOUCH 'EM!"

The otter threw himself forward as Benner tried to grab him, kicking him in the shin as hard as he could. The sound of claws scraping against stone filled Nugg's ears. The squirrel stumbled as the otter opened wide, trying to rip at Lazra's back and gnaw on her legs and tail while fear still gave him terrifying courage and made his heart try to beat out of his chest. A swirl of ripped black cloak blocked out the light of the torch and engulfed Nugg's face.

_Thud._ Lazra drove her foot directly into the dibbun's stomach while he was blinded. Nugg made a wheezing noise and almost retched then and there, unable to breathe as he slammed into the stone floor and rolled across it with the skin on his belly feeling like it was tearing into pieces. The whole world and stars tilted upside down and filled with water, and Nugg made a wretched coughing noise before he realized he was crying and shaking in a curled-up ball. His belly was on fire as Lazra turned to face Benner, backing off from the enraged squirrel's face and expertly securing the two wailing sacks of Milly and Judspike to her shoulders.

"He was goin' ta ruin everythin' an' was too heavy ta carry down; I did what I had ta," Lazra spat. She hoped onto the walltop as Benner began to shake again, grabbing her rope quicker than she needed to. Nugg saw the unsurprised fear in her eyes as the squirrel tried to keep himself in check, beginning to make distorted gibbering noises. Something was openly dripping from his mouth now as his body gave spasms in the dark. Nugg gave a choking sob, trying to force himself to get up.

"Mum, dad, please, you have to help, you have to help me—" he pleaded under his breath, eyes wide and shaking from tears, whole body rebelling against the effort of getting up. If his absent parents weren't going to help him, who was? _Nobeast,_ that's who, Nugg realized. A scream and sob fought to get out of his throat as he finally discovered the truth. Footsteps pounded over the walltop as two distorted black figures approached the dissolving group, one running over the thick walltop edge like it weighed nothing.

Lazra took a step back and hung on the edge of the walltop just as Benner gave a snarl and become something that wasn't a squirrel, ripping at his ears.

"Ya were too weak ta carry 'un down anyway," Lazra said. She almost sounded like she was saying sorry. "Ya would've dropped an' killed 'un. I'm not leavin' ya with that as the last thin' ya did before ya broke an' lost it." The ferret looked apologetically at Nugg and the monster she was leaving him with. She said nothing.

Lazra grabbed the rope and jumped back, disappearing into the darkness as she rappelled down the side of the wall with Milly and Judspike.

Nugg clawed at the floor and finally managed to get to his feet just as the snarling and drooling Benner turned on him, body hunched, eyes stuck in the most terrifying kind of glazed and filminess he'd ever seen. His whole body was shaking, cloak hanging around him like the torn fur from his tail, and he was nothing more than a shallowly breathing and slobbering figment of a nightmare— which was beginning to crouch with his eyes fixed straight on Nugg. The otter had seen squirrels jump before. He knew what one getting ready looked like.

The dibbun managed to scream before the world exploded in fur and snarls.

"MUM! DAAAD!"

* * *

It had been a while since Krosah had seen the stars so vivid. The last time they'd been so clearly speckling the sky as the only pricks of white light in the dark, it had been in the middle of winter, and Krosah had been huffing out white clouds from his mouth and freezing his feet on the walltop. He'd also been staring at the immense coating of snow that was packed as thick as any brick on the no-longer-red abbey— and Makara. It had been a little hard to watch the stars or keep from being tongue-tied when she'd had her bright scarf hanging off her neck and her tufty ear tips covered in soft snowflakes, laughing at the cold.

"Seen anythin'?"

Krosah was jarred from his thoughts and pushed back into the warm summer heat by Dipper's words, realizing that he was leaning on the walltop and staring intently into the dark. The squirrel moved back into the torch light as Dipper looked off into the shroud of darkness further down the walltop, still as alert and energetic as he'd been an hour ago.

"No," Krosah said. He busied himself with scanning the treetops as silence fell again, Dipper leaning on the wall a short distance away. The weasel loosely crossed his arms. Krosah could see shadow clutching to the paths of shorter fur peeking up from behind his shoulders.

The squirrel tried not to squirm and fought the urge to wrap his paw around the hilt of Dipper's dagger, which hung looped from his belt. Despite the fact that the weasel had lent it to him during the day, Krosah couldn't help but feel that the vermin's sharp eyes were constantly roving over the weapon along with the other parts of the walltop and forest. The near complete silence wasn't helping either. Neither of the beasts had been expecting to be close to each other after the gruff affirmation of trust earlier, but here they were.

Apparently, Krosah thought, the Abbess had decided that he and Dipper snapping at each other before was enough of a reason to put them together on a two hour night sentry shift. She wasn't tolerant of any moral questioning of a good fellow abbeybeast devoted to the code, or any insulting slurs— 'treerat' included.

Normally, 'treerat' wasn't particularly bad with teasing context, just the same as 'hedgepig' or 'waterdog.' But since Dipper had a long history with foul language that the Abbess had been consistently trying to break him of, not to mention that he and Krosah hadn't exactly been acting friendly with each other during the walltop confrontation the Abbess had seen, neither of them had been excused.

Dipper frowned and pushed off the wall from where he leaned, straightening as Krosah heard the faint talking across the ramparts. The squirrel turned and saw several obscure silhouettes moving about with swift purpose on the far end of the walltop, two of the larger ones unwinding things and slipping them over the sides. Sentries? Krosah thought, squinting his eyes to see better in the dark.

It took him a moment to realize all the smaller figures were less than waist high. It didn't take his heart a moment to begin pounding when one of the adult intruders shoved a dibbun into a sack.

Dipper took off with a single lunge, swears spilling from his mouth at the far distance of the beasts in front of them. Those curses that weren't in a tribal dialect he couldn't understand were filthy enough to sear Krosah's ears shut, if he hadn't been leaping along the walltop edge for all he was worth and tearing a few of them out of his own breathless throat.

The world and black figures shook in Krosah's vision as he listened to his own sharp breathing and the screams coming from the bagged dibbuns and Nugg as the little otter was kicked to the floor, small body curling up and sliding across the stone. How had this _happened_? They hadn't let anybeast in; no breaches had been reported from the gates or otherwise.

Krosah felt a pure frenzy of horror and rage begin to eat its way through his chest as Nugg slowly crawled up to his feet again, the tall beast with the straining bags of dibbuns standing on the edge of the wall like a bird poised to fly. The other one began to thrash on the ground.

Too far, Krosah realized, the scene before him growing bigger and closer with every second. But not fast enough. They were too far away. Dipper's breath was ragged with the force he pushed himself. Still not enough.

By the time Krosah was within leaping distance, the figure carrying the dibbuns had already disappeared into the dark beyond the red walls, and their abandoned accomplice was cornering Nugg.

_No!_ Krosah thought, rage and fear bubbling through him and steeling his legs. They'd lost two dibbuns already; they wouldn't lose another.

Krosah gritted his teeth and jumped as hard as he could right when Nugg screamed.

The hard stone disappeared from underneath as his feet stung with the effort he'd pushed off with, limbs outstretched and tail streaming behind him. He landed with a jarring thump in front of a screeching Nugg, and for a moment, Krosah found himself face-to-face with another squirrel. Two sets of brown eyes at each other a whisker's breadth away in suspended motion.

Reality and momentum returning, breaking the spell, and Krosah grabbed Nugg and rolled across the walltop with him. The hard ground smashed into his shoulder that had hit the floor. Krosah choked as the dibbun in his grasp kicked him in the chest, his blunt nose jamming into his rescuer's throat as they fell into a tangled ball of cub and adolescent.

There was a thud as the other squirrel landed where Nugg had been a second ago, tearing uselessly at the brick. It gave a screech of frustration, looking in their direction with hungry purpose, and then the world was torn open by another battle cry as a streak of airborne brown slammed into its chest. Feral snarls and snapping jaws went down on the stone in a thrashing tangle of fur, limbs, and blood.

Krosah ripped his gaze from the fight and looked at the quavering Nugg in his arms, dibbun staring at the screaming and clawing melee that was Dipper and the squirrel. There was a nasty crack as one of the entangled beasts slammed their opponent's head against the ground before the pinned one wriggled free and kicked them in the jaw. Snarls became sound versions of the brutal fight occurring.

"Nugg, run!" Krosah yelled, shaking the otter's shoulders. Nugg stared at him like he was trying to speak mole. Krosah shoved him towards the other side of the walltop, dibbun beginning to move on stumbling legs. He tried to speak up over the terrible noises coming from behind. "Go find your parents, _someone_, wake everybeast up; go, RUN!"

At the mention of his parents, Nugg snapped out of his trance, streaking down the walltop and yelling as loud as he could. The clatter was bound to alert the other sentries. Krosah jumped to his feet and drew Dipper's dagger from his belt, whirling around to face the fight. The squirrel felt himself freezing as he saw what lay behind him.

The twisted battle in the torch firelight was a scene drudged straight up from Hellgates and dropped onto the abbey wall, ripped fur and the pools and smears of blood glowing morbidly in the orange light. As both of the beasts tore off each other's skin and screamed feral snarls into each other's faces, bloodied fangs snapping in the light and limbs being crunched down and broken, Krosah didn't know who the real animal was.

There was a thud as the beasts separated, the tattered squirrel baring his teeth and kicking Dipper into the walltop side. The weasel swore as his feet slipped on the wet rock, eyes widening in surprise for a moment. Krosah would forever remember his expression. The squirrel took the chance to hook its claws into Dipper's face and rip down. Blood and strips of red poured off his muzzle and Dipper screamed in broken agony.

"Get _offa_ him!" Krosah shouted, yell drowned out by the victorious snarls and gurgling coming from the diseased squirrel. He'd climbed on top of Dipper, shoving the weasel down, and the vermin was barely keeping his slobbering jaws from clamping down with one quivering arm, grip slowly giving in and being pushed back as the other beast flayed his exposed chest and spare arm with its curved claws. The floor became even slicker.

Krosah threw himself at the two struggling beasts and stabbed the squirrel in the arm as hard as he could just as Dipper's grip gave in and its jaws snapped shut.

The squirrel screamed in agony and anger, stumbling back from the bleeding weasel as it found a new target, it clutching at its own ripped open arm and giving something that sounded like a sob. It staggered a few times before turning to face Krosah, eyes wide and clear under the curtain of blood pouring from a cut above them.

Krosah could suddenly feel all of his fur on end and his chest clutching in on itself in fear as the squirrel began to wobble towards him. He found himself backing up, breathing getting erratic as he forced up the dagger in the defensive pose he'd been taught, wildly sizing up the creature in front of him. It was bleeding, it was broken, it had attacked Nugg and Dipper, but Krosah had never _killed_ anybeast before, had never slit their throat or made their blood pour out onto the ground like it was everywhere now.

The squirrel drew back its reddened claws and made a hideous gurgling sound in the back of its throat, swinging. Its claws slashed an arch above Krosah's head as he ducked and darted around it. Krosah felt his heart beating crazily against his ribs as it slunk forward for another pass at him. The dagger suddenly felt like lead in his paws, and he barely parried the rake of claws aimed at his face and dodged the grab at his tail, some of his fur being torn in its grip. A sudden sting of pain was accompanied by wetness beginning to drip down his skin.

Krosah tried to focus on his opponent and stab, but he couldn't attack; it was a _squirrel_, a fellow woodlander who was looking directly back at his face with glazed versions of the same brown eyes Makara, Jaspin, and his entire family looked at him with.

"GODDAMNIT KROSAH, HE'S TRYIN' TA KILL YOU!" Dipper roared, weasel managing to get to his feet with blood flowing from a mess of raw flesh that was his nose and torn open face. Maroon furrows were left on the sandstone behind him where he'd pulled himself up.

Krosah quickly parried one last of swing of claws at his face before the squirrel went to all fours and head-butted him in the chest, its open mouth and sharp teeth almost brushing against his skin. Krosah felt all the air wheeze out of him as he saw stars with the agonizing slam of the squirrel's skull against him. Froth splattered against his clothes and hot breath pressed against his skin as they both hit the floor.

Looking up from the ground at the trembling and sickened face that had somehow moved its way up to block out his view of the stars with mouth open and yellowed teeth showing, iron-grip claws pinning his wrists down and hood hanging in tatters around its neck that seemed as dark as night itself, Krosah realized he was going to die.

There was a feral scream of anger from the side, and the squirrel was suddenly thrown off of him with a surprised yelp, a flash of light blinding Krosah. Its claws ripped from his wrists, leaving his skin feeling a raw burn. There was the sound of footsteps pounding over the stone and more snarling, orange flashing everywhere. Krosah dizzily shoved himself up with his arms as the change of light continued, head still ringing from its collision with the floor as the sounds of another fight went on.

Dipper had torn the nearby walltop torch out of its holder with a screech of metal and shower of sparks and burning torch filaments, burning his arms with flecks of ashes and oil that had shed from it. The mad squirrel was on the floor, trapped between it and the walltop battlement, and as Krosah watched it try to scramble to its feet with heaving gasps of pain, Dipper viciously stomped its belly and drove it back down. It sank its claws into his leg as he did, flaying the skin off the snarling and howling weasel's leg even he pressed down harder, making it screech before letting go. Dipper yanked his bleeding leg away and pulled back his arms. The squirrel lifted its head in an attempt to sink its teeth into the weasel's arm again, clawing at the space in front of it like it was trying to guard itself.

In one movement of spinning flame and pouring ash, Dipper raised the torch high and brought the metal holder down on the squirrel's head. Sparks flew from the torch. There was a sickening crack of metal slamming into bone and rock.

The weasel continued, not even pausing once the torch had met its target and drawing back again with a move so merciless it almost looked practiced. The flames spun and dragged through the darkness like the tail of a bloodied comet, orange light illuminating Dipper's strained muscles as he swung down again and again with bared fangs, ashes and flecks of blood flying through the aftermath of the torch's brightness. The sound of bones shattering and screams of dying agony became nothing but a familiar noise to Krosah in the endless night until the dark puddle seeping out from underneath the body's snapped limbs and twitching head began to hiss when the sparks of ash landed in it.

Finally, it stopped. Dipper lowered the flickering torch with a clink of metal as it tapped against the stone floor. Krosah could see his chest heaving in the vanishing orange light, his own puddle of red growing underneath him and running in thick rivulets down his face and filling the trails of shortened fur down his back like tattoos reborn from blood. Dipper's ragged heaving continued.

As Krosah got to his feet, he became dimly aware that there were other beasts rushing down the walltop towards them, yelling things he didn't hear to one another and raising the alarm. In the far back, Nugg clutched to Varina's chest as his mother held him, Bodeen squeezing the dibbun's face in his paws and staying close like his son would disappear.

A sensation of fear broke through Krosah's dull shock and clutched at his chest as Dipper wobbled where he stood, an immense amount of blood still pouring from his torn face and worn-ragged shoulders and chest. Krosah jammed the dagger he'd just discovered he was still holding into a loop on his belt again, running forward and grabbing Dipper just as the weasel collapsed on him with his arm hanging around his neck.

While he was tugging the weasel's arm further down around his neck and putting his own around Dipper's waist, supporting him and beginning to limp across the walltop, Krosah could feel that the weasel's chest had calmed to a slow and rhythmic heave instead of the shallow and frantic one earlier. The cream splash of color he'd had running down the length of his long neck had been completely dyed red and spiked with blood.

Krosah found himself staring right at the face of a concerned mouse as the group gathered around them, it seeming like the whole of Redwall had gathered on the walltop as doors were thrown open and sentries stared and gasped in horror at the shattered and pulverized mess behind them. One green habit after another flooded the place of Redwall closest to the star-filled sky.

"Can somebeast get an infirmary helper? _Now_," Krosah said. "We've got an injured beast here and back there." He heard his own voice sound raw and graveled underneath the stress as he thumbed at the mess behind him. He couldn't look back. "And wake up the Abbess. We've got something we're gonna need to tell her."


	10. Chapter 10

The blood hadn't fully dried on Krosah's clawed open side when he, the Abbess, Skipper, and one grim-faced Ruae were all gathered inside the gatehouse, the closest place to confer they could find away from the growing hectic clamor in the abbey. Krosah had finished spilling the entire story to Abbess Petranka, squirrel glancing out the windows every few seconds or so with his fur still messy and face splattered with blood droplets from the stunt with the torch earlier. Dipper and the other squirrel had been carried to the infirmary by two groups just minutes ago. Already, the dark late-night grounds of Redwall were having their peace shattered by awakening beasts and bobbing torches in the dark like disembodied fire sparks.

Ruae swore, kneading the bridge of her muzzle with her claws. The sleepiness in her eyes had disappeared the instant another abbeybeast had burst into her room and informed her that two of her dibbun charges were now kidnapped and her grandson had narrowly avoided being eaten alive. She'd torn herself away from the united conglomerate of Varina, Bodeen, and Nugg to join the conference, peeling the dibbun from where he'd been wrapped around her waist like a vine of ivy and handing him off to his father.

"How did I let those three get past me? I was sleepin' right by the fishrot stinkin' _door_—"

"Don't blame yoreself, Ruae," Skipper said, leaning over the table from where he stood. Most of the chairs in the desk-cluttered room were built for beasts much shorter, so he'd chosen to spare his spine and stand. The Skipper's body was twitching and his rudder restlessly sweeping over the floor behind him. "Varina an' Bodeen don't. Those liddle ones were right sneaky, an' no one expected that lot t' get over the wall…"

"Grappling hooks and a clear knowledge of Redwall's corridors and sentry system," the Abbess said quietly. "We underestimated Sonor and the remaining sanity of those closer to him. Their plan may have fallen apart thanks to Krosah and the brave actions of Dipper, but those two were quite aware of what they were doing before the end. I doubt Milly, Nugg, or Judspike would have walked up to the walltop with them if they'd have appeared threatening."

Krosah's stomach burned in a nauseated jerk as repressed thoughts began to rise to the surface, his paws beginning to shake on their own accord as he hooked his claws into the table edge and clenched down. His body felt like it acted on the whim of another beast than himself.

"Are you saying the squirrel up there coulda been a Redwaller once?" The image of yellowed teeth and a raggedy tail filled his head, the hunched thing's sour and rotting breath curling through his nose again.

"It's a possibility," Abbess Petranka said. Krosah realized he could taste bile in his throat. His paws weren't the only thing feeling trembles. Skipper and Ruae remained quiet in thought, Ruae touching her spectacles and brushing her elbow against the tabletop.

All of the gathered beasts were sitting around a small desk, surrounded by tidy piles of books in the corners and worn beeswax crayon nubs on the tops of other desks, the childish and happy drawings of dibbuns hung in scattered waves over the walls. Even the lit lantern above with a simple pattern punched along the side was cheery. Krosah wanted to throw his chair out of the way and go running out onto the abbey grounds, because it felt wrong to be sitting in such a _neat_ and _clean_ place with the prints of cubs all over it after he'd just witnessed a beast getting pounded into a pulp of flesh and marrow with a metal torch. The splatter of blood and flesh string up on the walltop wasn't _neat. _Dipper's half torn-off face hadn't been _neat._

Krosah could feel the Abbess and Skipper giving him odd glances. Skipper Jalik shuffled more towards the Abbess, but his eyes brushed over the squirrel as he did so. Ruae adjusted herself in her seat, and Krosah felt a sharp sting as his shin was kicked. He bit his lip to keep from jumping in surprise, looking at Ruae with wide eyes. The elderly otter stared back without a hint of surprise. She tapped one of her fingers against the desk when he kept staring like he was ready to say something. Krosah noticed her glance towards his clenched claws, quickly prying them from the table and putting them by his sides. He swallowed and forced his bristling fur down, calming the abrupt tremble that was gripping his whole body. Stop, he thought. It had to stop.

The Abbess and Skipper looked slightly more relaxed when Krosah ceased his shaking, though not by much. The Abbess looked a saddened and exhausted kind of knowledgeable as she looked at him, but any expression Krosah could see was broken as Skipper Jalik leaned forward, all business.

Krosah had a sudden vivid image of the brawny otter with all his tattoos stripped off and paths of cropped fur replacing them.

"What might've been doesn't matter anymore. We have two beasts stuck in the infirmary an' two dibbuns carried off an' hid outside somewhere," Skipper said. He glanced at Krosah. "Was Dipper bitten?"

The squirrel tried to sort through the flashes of the bloody melee in his head, agonized scream repeating in his mind from when he'd plunged his dagger into the other beast's arm.

"No," he said. "'Least, not while I was watching."

"We'll see when Lillen finishes bandangin' him," Ruae said. Krosah clenched his fists, claws digging into the sides of his seat. Was that all she had to say? 'We'll see'? Something churned inside again, ice that had been locking his emotions and shock beginning to melt.

"I'd also like to have a word or two with the squirrel if he awakens," Abbess Petranka said, folding her paws into her habit sleeves. "He may know something about where Milly and Judspike are being held, though I'm sure they're currently fine." The Abbess smiled sadly. "Sonor is no monster. He merely wants a cure for the sickness, and he'd consider returning two healthy dibbuns for his and his group's salvation a trade. It's unfortunate we currently don't have what he or any other infected beast need…"

"'If'?" Ruae said, narrowing her eyes at the Abbess's first statement. They became slits of shrewd brown behind her spectacles, she and Skipper looking curious despite themselves. Krosah had the terrible impulse to rip into the stacks of books and scatter them around the room; _anything_ to make it seem less clean and removed from what rotted above on the walltop and in a certain infirmary room. The smell of blood filled his nose.

"Dipper tore into him pretty badly," Krosah said. He forced himself to sit up straight, focusing anywhere but the otters' faces. He suddenly didn't want to look at them or their unsurprised expressions; he just wanted to curl in a corner and put back together the breaking pieces of whatever was in his stomach. "He had to."

"I know, Krosah," the Abbess said gently, as if defensive prickles had been lining his voice. She moved her paws to tug out of her sleeves, she and Skipper tilting their heads up to the listen to the activity outside.

Seeing the weary look on the Abbess's face, Krosah and Ruae did the same, ears perking up. There was more nervous chattering than before outside, the buzzing of distant conversation and pattering sandaled feet blending together in a slowly growing din. Lights began to appear outside the gatehouse in greater clumps like swarms of firefly clusters.

"They're awakening," the Abbess said. Her tired green eyes seemed resigned to doing something over again, like a complex puzzle they'd done and shoved away years ago, and Krosah blinked as he saw just how old the Abbess was. The flicker of exhaustion disappeared as she laid a paw on the desk and stood from her chair. "I'll gather those roused and moved them to Cavern Hole and the Great Hall for a conference. I think we have enough tables between the two left in them for now. Skipper, pull together those of the crew awake and get them to tell all the gate guards and sentries of what happened. If they have to take the positions instead, then so be it. Sonor has what he wants; he won't be making another move tonight, but best to stay on the side of caution."

Skipper Jalik nodded, already up and moving to open the door for the Abbess. Nervous beasts immediately turned their heads towards the noise as it cracked open. Krosah could see them pouring forward in droves of habit sleeves and hoods to seek answers and comfort.

"Are we goin' t' be figurin' out how t' get our cubs back from that slobberin' scum?" Ruae said, grinding her teeth slightly at the end of her words. She and Krosah hung behind Abbess Petranka and Skipper as they stood in the doorway and prepared to face the swarm.

"Not entirely tonight, Ruae," the Abbess said. She held her silvering face high, arranging herself into a composed and regal figure that wore the habit like she'd been born to do so. Her neck creaked, but the arthritis quieted underneath her pure determination. "All of us are distracted by fear and sleepiness. Waiting until the morning would bring clearer and more level-headed decisions."

Ruae said nothing in reply, but she settled more, filing out behind Abbess Petranka and Skipper. A shudder of an odd relief went down Krosah's back as he entered the outside again, free of the constricting room, but the lingering nausea and shaking came back in full force. Krosah swore he saw the Abbess whispering to Skipper and a significant glance being directed towards him. Then it was gone, Abbess Petranka swarmed by worrying and questioning beasts of all species that she gently and firmly pushed aside before reassuring. All of them began to head for the Great Hall, a panicked and anger-tinged procession led by the Abbess. Ruae headed off to find Varina, Bodeen, and Nugg once more.

Krosah spotted Skipper and dashed off to the brown tower of fur and tattoos before he could get too far. The squirrel grabbed his elbow as the otter chieftain barked out an order to one of his crew.

"Skipper!"

Skipper paused, lifting his arm before he realized that it was Krosah grabbing him. "What? Krosah, t'isn't a good time."

"Where's Dipper? Can I go see him?" Krosah said. The smell of blood and ash was in his nose again, and the surprised look on Dipper's face before his muzzle was shredded into a red mess refused to leave Krosah's head. The infirmary was for dibbuns with scraped knees and a careless Sparra with a sprained wing or two; not for _that._ How the Hellgates could somebeast even live through that?

Skipper frowned for a moment, considering his questions. The other Redwallers and otter crew continued to swarm around them as they took orders and ran to their places. A lengthy procession was heading to the Great Hall, curling through the grass and treading over it like a giant snake of robes and tails.

"Ye should wait 'til tomorrow," Skipper said, turning away from Krosah to direct another crewmate. "OI, YE FOUR OVER THERE! COVER ALL GATES; HEAD FOR THE WALLTOPS TOO! Dipper's probably not in any shape t' be havin' visitors call now." Skipper waved to a distant Rillford, younger otter trooping across the grounds with a lantern. "Ye should get yoreself checked as well."

"Yeah," Krosah said, his mouth opening and closing without him feeling a thing. He stared at Skipper a little longer, a weird sensation of being sucked down to the ground pulling down through every one of his innards, and then he turned tail and plunged into the chaos around him.

_The squirrel opened its shattered jaw to scream again, violently shaking with the parts of it not clinging to its body by fractured bone twigs and stringy ligaments, and as Dipper snarled and brought down the lantern again, ribs caving in and snapping like when an otter crunched a fish in its mouth, Krosah could read its torn lips as its eyes bugged from its head. It was trying to scream 'no.'_

Krosah wandered around in the swirl of activity and beasts, looking down at their feet and dully observing that lots of them didn't have sandals. They must've not had time to put them on. He brushed by one plumy tail of a squirrel and one rounded set of mouse ears after another, being swallowed up by so much green cloth and simple tassels tied around their waists, everything blurring like he was flying through the treetops high up above Mossflower with Jaspin and the Forest Patrol.

There was more movement within the chaos, and Krosah heard a voice coming closer and shoving aside beasts left and right to get to him. He felt a pair of familiar firm arms wrap around his shoulders and hold him close, one paw poking his cheek and drawing his attention to the pretty face of Makara hovering directly next to him, clamping him close and observing him like Varina had done with Nugg.

Krosah was confused for a second before he realized his body was violently shaking without him. His tail stuck up in a bristling clump behind, claws digging into his palms so hard that they were aching with pain, but he couldn't let go. Was something wet hanging on the tips of his claws? A hideous twisting fear, the want to retch, and images of the fight from the walltop and carted off Dipper burst through him like a dam. Krosah began clumsily gasping and swearing even as the images of the world around him sharpened and filled with coherent sound again. He heard Makara saying something about 'shock wearing off' and shoving aside other Redwallers, telling them to back off and give him some space. It didn't matter.

He let her lead him up to the dormitories again even as she kept a firm grip on his shoulders and muttered things to him, watching the round pair of brown eyes that stayed on his face the whole time they walked.

* * *

What came that day could hardly be considered a Summer Festival mood.

Krosah walked through the winding halls of Redwall, glancing at the sunny windows and their rectangles of light they left stretched out across the quiet hall. The glass left soft rainbow patterns drawn across the floor, Krosah's fur heating up whenever he waded through the light. The off-white bandages wrapped around his side held their own glow.

The squirrel glanced down, poking at the tiny red stain before a rabbit carrying a basket of laundry passed by.

"Hello," Krosah said. The rabbit's eyes widened before he gave him a strained smile, it waning away as he hurried on down the hall with the woven basket full of habits and nightclothes. Krosah could hear his footsteps echoing throughout the entire second floor of Redwall and on down the stairs.

Not many beasts were up and about on the higher levels, though there were no sounds of festivity and laughter booming from below. A rather dull buzz had filled the halls and doorways below instead of the energetic hum that came from Redwall's usual activity and chore tasking. When he sniffed, Krosah could smell the faint aroma of pies, scones, and candied chestnuts mixed all together drifting up from the giant heart of the kitchen— but there was nobeast outside eating them. At least, not that he knew of. He hadn't been outside since Makara had brought him in last night.

Krosah's face burned with heat as he took a right, leaving the deserted hall and lines of stained glass behind. His paws crept down to his bandage, he struggling to force his puffed fur up and his claws away from the wrappings. Of all the stupid or angry things Makara had seen him do, she just _had_ to be watching him for that one. For that entire stinking _night_. While the world had been blurred and offset during the darkness, Krosah found that he remembered everything quite well now that'd he woken up. Not just about Makara— the walltop fight between Dipper and the other squirrel as well— but he shut his mind down whenever it began to wonder about that again.

The squirrel winced as he passed by cracked open dormitory door, pulling his arms around him and giving his suddenly flexing and antsy claws something to hold onto. He'd been imagining him and Makara walking back into Redwall after a long day with her arm around his shoulders or the other way around for a long time whenever he started to daydream. But he'd never expected it to be a limping, shuddering walk across the grass with the smell of blood filling his nose, unable to control the bursts of images he was seeing and the way he pathetically stuck close to Makara like his ligaments had been cut.

He'd never expected to jerk himself from her grip and retch his guts out near the wall, either.

Krosah had clung to the brick with shaking claws, trying to dig them in as he coughed and gasped, forehead pressed against the rock and whole body screaming at him, throat burning. He never wanted to see a metal torch meet stone and fur. Never again. Makara had remained silent while he'd puked his guts out, giving him space. She'd stroked one of his ears and mutely put her arm around his shoulders again when he'd finished and staggered back, still shaking and wiping his mouth with his back of his paw. They didn't speak of it once the entire way back to the dormitory.

Krosah's thoughts ventured from Makara as he caught sight of the familiar pale green door in the middle of the hall. He slowed his walk, focusing on it, and took in a slow breath to ready himself. The door came closer with every step. It seemed to glow softly in the light, a bright beacon in the hall drawing him in like a reluctant moth to a flame— 'You watched the first part of this, so you have to come see the rest.'

The squirrel drew himself up, sucked in his belly and pushed out his chest to boost his confidence, and went into the infirmary.

Inside the room, it was warm and calm, a permanent quiet clinging to the white homespun sheets and simple uncolored glass windows around the walls. An occasional rustle of a sheet here and there along with a clicking and grinding of stone from the back and rustle of dried herbs were the only noises amongst the double rows of identical cots that flanked the opposite walls with their feet to the path down the middle. An occasional shadowy Sparra flew by and dotted the sunshine with fleeting black.

Krosah's feet were cool as he stood on the stone by the door untouched by the sun. He hesitantly moved forward as he heard the grinding of a stone pestle and mortar in the far back of the rows, issuing quietly from near a shelf covered in aged and stained herb jars and crumbling books. The whole room felt like the longest hall in the entire abbey.

"Lillen?" Krosah said, moving further down the path between the beds. He smelled a faint hint of herbs as something rustled at the far end of the infirmary. His eyes were immediately drawn to an occupied bed where the blankets slowly rose up and down. One bandaged brown arm hung over the top of the cover and rested on the long hidden form underneath.

There was a pause in the grinding, and the head of a toast-brown shrewmaid popped up from behind a curtained desk. "Who's there? Oh, Krosah. Come on back." Lillen stepped out to meet him with a mortar and pestle in one limber paw. Dark green crumbled herbs filled the stone bowl, strong smell making Krosah's nose go numb. The entire infirmary smelt of blankets, various crushed and dried herbs, and the spoonful of honey that helped them go down.

"Hey, Lillen—"

"Did you get your wounds cleaned before you bandaged them?" Lillen said, greeting Krosah with an immediate poke and analyzing of his side. The shrew barged into his personal space and rifled through his bandage ties like Brother John through a drawer of files. Krosah was forced to raise his arms as she began to scrutinize him even further with displeased eyes and furrowed brows as she visually dissected his wound. "You should have come right to me last night after the brawl; do you have any lacerations of bites? Anything swellin' up?"

"Lillen, no!" Krosah said, bringing down his arms to defensively hold his paws out and keep her at bay. He stepped back to let himself have breathing room again. "I ain't got anymore big scratches— or bites— and Makara helped me out with the bandage. It's clean."

Lillen gave a small frown, balancing the mortar like she was inwardly debating whether or not to bean Krosah with it and check him thoroughly herself while he was unconscious. She could, too, Krosah thought. She'd gotten her throwing skills straight off her Uncle Tribble, a certain irritable Friar, and Dark Forest Gates help you if you so much as tried to step foot out of the infirmary if you weren't healed. Lillen would put you back right quick— and with something else that needed healing.

Krosah had to grin at the way her white spot of fur around her left eye twitched with her expression. It was a spot of snow in the rest of a completely melted and warmed mud road. A spot was an odd birthmark for a shrew, especially a white one on their face, and Ortho had mockingly called it 'her bally monocle.' Krosah was amazed he hadn't gotten the mortar chucked at him more than once.

"Well, fine," Lillen said, backing off with one last critical look. She twirled the edge of the pestle in her fingers, spinning a few crumbs from its green stained end. Krosah stood with a paw on one of the nearby bedframe poles as she reached for something in one of her dirtied apron's many pockets, shrewmaid walking back to her desk. Faint red stains and far brighter smears of maroon and other things Krosah couldn't identify ate up the long-lost white of her apron.

"If you want to see Dipper, he's almost awake," Lillen said, settling behind her curtained desk again. Krosah's heart beat harder and he swallowed it down.

"Yeah, I'll do that," he said. He pulled his fingers from his cot's bedframe and moved for the one filled bed in the infirmary.

Krosah settled on the cot next to him even as the lump under the covers began to stir. The squirrel gingerly sat his weight down on the creaking bedsprings, willing his tail to stop prickling as a battered paw pushed the blankets away.

The words almost caught in Krosah's throat. "Hey, Dipper."

"Hey, Krosah."

Dipper's voice was muffled by the large swathe of bandages loosely twined around his jaw and snout. A packed clump of poultice and wrappings clung to his nose and snout in a bumpy perch, Krosah seeing hazy red spots in it as Dipper hauled himself up against the bedframe. His whole face and neck were a blooming mess of mottled purplish blue bruises and jagged scars. Part of his right ear was sewn together, swollen and raw like Sonor's. All the larger cuts were covered by loops of bandage or stitches.

Dipper awkwardly pushed his shoulders up to sit higher. The covers flopped off his chest and arm, and an old churn returned to Krosah's stomach as he saw the weasel's pelt was held together with one looping line of jagged stitches after another, like Dipper's skin was one big beaten quilt that had been torn to pieces and clumsily sewn back together. Both of his arms were bandaged from wrist to elbow, flecks of burns peeking out the top of them from where the flying torch ash and debris had landed on him.

"You're gawkin' like a dead fish," Dipper said, hooking one arm over the bedpost to hold himself up. His arm bumped against the wood like his injuries weren't even there.

Krosah blinked in surprise, looking up from his arm bandages and meeting Dipper's eyes. He coughed, readjusting his place on the bed. "I, um, it's kinda hard to ignore." He couldn't keep his gaze from the huge glob of bandages and laced poultice engulfing Dipper's nose and half his muzzle. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Not too much," Dipper said, palming his snout. His fingers clumsily brushed over the bandages and a small leer came over his face. "Sonovawhore took a chunk outta my nose an' messed up most of my goddamn face. Doesn't matter, though," he said, voice almost slurring as Krosah stared at him, "never was much of a handsome mucker ta start with." Dipper gave a short laugh, wheeze on the edge. His breath was oddly slow and catching in his throat.

"…Dipper, are you alright?" Krosah said, leaning forward to look the weasel better. His usually sharp eyes were glazed over, and a thick tribal accent had begun to lace his words. Krosah looked to Lillen as Dipper stared at something on his cheek, weasel going stiff. "Lillen, how much herbs did you _give_ him?"

"Two times more than his weight should need," Lillen said, looking up from her work and pushing aside part of the curtain. She paused to measure some herb in her paws before dropping it into the mortar. "When he got up here, he was passed out from blood loss— a clawing nicked his jugular vein; he was lucky not to bleed out— but he woke up in the middle of surgery even with the herbs I'd given him."

Lillen tapped the edge of her mortar to knock some clingy herbs from the edge of the pestle. "Turns out the weasel's got quite a tolerance for anesthetics and sedatives," she said dryly. "But I don't count swearin' at the top of your lungs and trying to tear off what little 'useless' part of your nose is still stuck on as healthy pain reliever or step of recovery, so extra herbs it was."

Krosah glanced at the apparently dazed Dipper, whom was still staring at something on his face. Guilt laced his belly at the portion of his face swallowed by bandage.

"Is it gonna heal?" he said.

Lillen pulled back more of her curtain, moving her chair. Her white spot on her face shone in the light. "Partially. He's missing at least a third of his nose, and I did my best with the skin he had left hanging on his muzzle. I had to cut some of the unsalvageable pieces off. He'll heal, but it'll scar, and he'll never look the same again. His body'll fare a bit better, but still, the same." Lillen paused, leaning back to look Krosah in the face. "If it's any kind of consolation, most vermin like him heal like crazy, and he wasn't bitten. He'll be up sometime in season or less."

Another thought struck Krosah as Lillen pulled the curtain around her desk again, a sudden image of drooling jaws trying to snap down above his face. He sat up straighter, looking over the infirmary for another filled bed or ruffled sheets. "What about—"

"He's gone." Dipper spoke up bluntly. Krosah lowered himself and looked at him again. The glaze wasn't as prominent as it had been before, weasel almost looking grimly subdued. He'd stopped looking at Krosah's face, having found whatever he wanted. Dipper stared at the burns emerging from his bandages and experimentally curled his fingers. He watched the spots where some oil had slashed a burn over his pawpad. "Din't last over the night."

Krosah tried to find something to say just as he spotted the rumpled cot across the room. The covers weren't quite as neat and even as those of the other beds around, one side drooping off the edge of the mattress in an askew hang. The pillow was absent and the nightstands on both sides were completely cleared. A single lopsided red stain stuck to the green cover.

"I—" Krosah paused, lowering a paw that had been raising and setting it back on the cot. He squeezed the cover, claw sticking into the material. "Would it be wrong to say I'm kinda glad?" he said quietly, glancing at Lillen's still-working figure behind the curtain.

There were such horrible feelings coursing through him at the thought that another beast had been killed, even though he'd known it was pretty much dead anyway with the sickness coursing through its veins. Still, the Abbess and Lillen had been trying to find a cure, and it might've known something about what happened to Milly and Judspike if it had survived… Krosah clenched his fists harder, creating furrow in the cover.

"No," Dipper said, ferocity in his voice drawing Krosah's almost ashamed gaze up again. The weasel's eyes were vicious underneath their glaze, part of the same look that he'd had in them when he launched himself into the fight and beat the squirrel down. They made something far down in Krosah's fur and spine prickle. "I am. I don't regret a damn thin'. Not a single _second_ of it."

Krosah knew exactly what he was talking about when his burn-splotched paws curled together as if they held something, eyes fixed on the opposite with a singular fierceness and determination. A hint of the sour taste rose in his throat again as delayed accusations and thoughts began to run wild in his head, playing over Dipper's enraged scream from the night before. "You mean you _meant_ to—"

"What else?" Dipper said.

The full realization of what Dipper had done began to hit Krosah as he looked at the other side of the infirmary, weasel remaining silent and watching the squirrel with not-quite-half-lidded eyes. The bed remained flat and empty with the dark stain on it. Thanks to Dipper, it always would.

For the first time in a hundred fifty seasons of peace, a beast had been violently murdered and splattered over Redwall's walls by one of its own order. And the very breaker of the code and everything Redwall stood for was Dipper the weasel, Krosah thought, heart pounding. He felt sick. Dipper could've just beaten the squirrel into unconsciousness to be taken and interrogated by the Skipper and Abbess; could've taken him out with a single shot to the head with the lantern if he'd needed to.

But he'd chosen to corner him and just kept going, never aiming directly for the head, gradually beating the other sickened beast into a mass of unresponsive and crippled pulp that screamed and cringed for mercy while it drowned in its own blood and broken bones. He'd chosen to give him death as brutally and slowly as possible. What the weasel had done was worse than first degree murder by the Woodlander Code. Far stinking worse, Krosah thought, ears pining back for a moment as he thought of what Dipper's fate would be if the holt or other decided to give punishment for what had happened.

Dipper watched his face the entire time. He awaited judgment from the squirrel next to him, watching every expression that crossed his face and remaining silent. It took all of what Krosah had to look back at him.

"Looks like you got what you wanted," Krosah said. Something was stripped tender inside him as he spoke. It burned with every word.

"I told you, I don't regret it," Dipper said. "Not a single muck-rakin' moment." He lowered his head to rest on his neck. The creamy splotch was still an off-red color as Dipper surveyed the crisscrossing of wounds and stitches across his chest.

"Doesn't mean I'm not goin' ta regret what comes after it," Dipper said, speaking after a long pause. Krosah's eyes had wandered back to the crumpled bed, but he looked back at the tone in the weasel's voice. It was far less cocky and energetic. Something had tired his tone, and Dipper slumped against the bed, looking deflated. His glazed eyes stared downwards at his wounds.

When Dipper spoke again, his voice was far lower and hoarse. "Hurtin' beasts en't no strange thin' ta me. Easy ta fall back inta what you left when the tripe-garglin' thin' comes an' gets you."

Krosah didn't dare say anything. He remained focused on Dipper's face. The glazed eyes moved up to look at him after another long pause.

"Dunno what anybeast else's told you, but life en't nice. It's a goddamn whore that'll take what it kin get outta you no matter how tight you hold onta it." Dipper clenched his fists. Krosah didn't know how he could take the pain of driving his blunted claws so hard into his burns. "I've been fightin' all my life for every stinkin', rottin' thin' I had 'o could get a hold of," he said, voice low and raw. "An' when I got tired of all the slaughterin' an' fightin', there wasn't a single damn place ta go too. Got told that was just 'ow thin's worked in the world, an' there wasn't a hell-bound path different."

Krosah felt frozen where he was. He tried to swallow and found nothing.

"I looked for this place for seven seasons," Dipper said, releasing his paw from the fist it had been in. It still didn't entirely uncoil. Lillen's grinding had gone silent. "Spent Vulpez knew how much time askin' around for where the hell it was, then another five seasons actually findin' the snotsnortin' buildin'. By the time I was standin' outside an' the Abbess actually goddamn _let me in,_ I had no idea what the 'ell had happened. Walked in expectin' the otters ta strip the pelt off my back 'o thinkin' the Abbess was goin' ta figure out her mistake any second an' have me strung up 'o booted out, because tripe like that just doesn't happen. You don't let a slaughtin' sonuvawench inta an unarmed 'ome an' expect thin's ta turn out good, no matter what he's just said. _Ever._"

Dipper gave a quiet snort under his breath, fists unclenching. One of his paws slipped down from the bedframe to the base of his neck, feeling a line of cropped fur where his tattoo had been and he'd had more fur cropped to allow stitches in.

"The Abbess is the 'un who let me in, an' I en't ever spent more than a minute 'o two in the same room with 'er since," he said. "Din't get close if I din't 'ave ta, neither. Somebeasts might've called that some kinda shameful 'o cowardly. Guess it might goddamn be. First thin' I did when I managed ta stop wantin' ta stab the otters in the guts for sneakin' up on me an' hangin' around my back like it was nothin' was ta get my tattoos taken off. Every single worthless rotgutted 'un."

Dipper stopped feeling his line of cropped fur, picking at some blanket between his other paw's fingers. Krosah felt something blocking his throat as he watched the weasel.

"Wasn't able ta get all of 'em at once— just finished the smaller ones off then. But the smaller ones hurt like absolute hell," Dipper said, "an' a muckin' adder rippin' its sonuvawhore teeth down the middle of my back, but I couldn't swear about it, seein' the Abbess din't like that."

He leaned further back against the headboard and sank down slightly.

"I din't pick fights with that smartass Farflit 'o any'un else. I kept from punchin' somebeast in the face whenever they said somethin' about my stinkin' tattoos. I even stuck ta that goddamn Woodlander Code when the sickbeasts first turned up instead of killin' 'em— because lookin' at what I had in life afore, this felt like a damn dream that wasn't ever stoppin', an' I just kept thinkin', _for once in your goddamn life, Dipper, don't ruin the only thin' that's ever gone right for you._"

The weasel abruptly went silent. Krosah felt like the lack of sound in the infirmary was more deafening and suffocating than having to stand underneath Redwall's bells while they were rang. There wasn't a sound in the infirmary, Dipper's eyes still glassy, but Krosah could see them moving from his face and settling on the empty cot across the room. He looked over it, movements still sluggish.

"…Dipper?" Krosah said, finally finding his voice.

The weasel snorted, giving a slurred and humorless laugh that sounded more like a bark or snarl. "Still looks like I screwed it somewhere along the line, seein' I just pounded somebeast ta death. Hope the Abbess finds some'un who likes cleanin' up skull after she reconsiders lettin' me in."

The grimly resigned tone to his voice made Krosah bristle, squirrel leaning over from his cot towards Dipper. The bedsprings creaked. "Dipper, you're not gonna get thrown out of Redwall," he said fiercely, sounding more determined then he'd imagined himself speaking. Dipper looked up at the squirrel staring at his face with enough will to melt his pelt. "Not if anybeast can help it, 'specially me. You did what you had to. You just got a little, er, carried off."

Krosah glanced at his paws, imaging them around the dagger hilt again and parrying off blocks of slashing claws on the darkened and gore-stained walltop.

"I'm not gonna say there wasn't something really wrong about it," he said, picking his words slowly and carefully. "There's a whole lot there is— Hellgates, _more_ than that. But Nugg and I might be dead if you hadn't done anything. I definitely would. So I… I owe you that. _We _owe you that. You saved a cub's life. That's worth something."

Dipper's eyes cleared for a moment as he looked up at Krosah. The weasel seemed to be searching for something before Krosah glanced up from the floor and realized the other beast was watching him. His gaze left as quickly as Krosah had felt it fall on him.

"'Course there was somethin' stinkin' wrong about it," Dipper said, speaking up like their pause hadn't just happened, bandage on his nose quivering. He'd sunk further down in the bed than when he'd started out talking, but the drugged weasel didn't seem to realize it, continuing. The grim resignation was gone from his voice. "But I'd fight that bastard an' send him ta Hellgates a million times over if I had ta. Vulpez, I'd follow him straight goddamn down ta finish the job," Dipper said. A snarl clung to his words as he bared the edges of his teeth, longer fur standing on end. "Whether I end up booted out 'o not, those scum en't _touchin'_ what's in here. Not over their own stinkin' maggot riddled corpses 'o mine."

Krosah didn't need to look at the fire underneath Dipper's glassy eyes to have the weasel's statement verified. Despite the violence, the overwhelming urge to protect was there, and suddenly a flood of words and questions were tugging at the squirrel's throat as the beast sunk a little lower under the covers, Krosah feeling like a dibbun trying to say something to the Abbess.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, clearing his throat afterwards. Saying those two words felt like an enormous weight he hadn't known there taking off into the sky like a Sparra off a branch. "For being such a stiff-tailer and idiot on the walltop and before."

He remembered the teeth that had come so close to ending his life and tearing his throat out, jerked away at the last moment, and the scarred and wicked dagger he'd almost been terrified to take from the weasel's offering paw.

"Never believed a ver— a _weasel _could be part of Redwall," Krosah said. "Or much of anything, for that matter. But it looks like I ain't right about a lot of things."

Krosah got up, crossing the distance between the cots. He held in the deep breath he suddenly wanted to take, reaching his paw out. Dipper observed its outstretched claws before moving onto Krosah. The squirrel felt the weasel's eyes linger on part of his face again before he struggled up against the headboard once more, shoving off the blankets with annoyance. A much bigger and burn-littered paw with blunted claws reached for Krosah's.

The two shook paws.

Krosah felt the firm grip and bandaged fingers leaving his smaller ones after they let up, paws moving to rest on the bed again. Dipper gazed up with now exhausted eyes as the squirrel tried not to betray how he suddenly felt like an older part of him was gone, shoved out by the fading warmth in his paw and the new thing that had been growing for a long time.

The weasel still kept his head from slumping onto the pillow and his own bruised and scratched up neck by sheer willpower. Krosah could still see his eyelids sinking. His mouth opened as to say one last thing.

"You have a streak of blood on your face like a muckin' spot of paint. Get that goddamn thin' cleaned off."

Dipper's eyes went hazy as he fell to drowsiness, Krosah blinking in surprise and reaching for his cheek. No wander Dipper had been staring earlier and nobeast he'd run into had said much to him all morning. He'd been looking like a madbeast walking.

As Dipper drifted off, Krosah heard Lillen moving around for the first time in minutes, the click of the mortar and pestle grinding beginning anew. The shrewmaid leaned back in her chair to observe both of them, shoving aside part of her curtain as Krosah looked over the weasel's eyes drifting closed.

"That stubborn hardhead wouldn't go to sleep all morning. Spent the whole half of the night he was conscious staring at the squirrel before… well. Think we both heard enough about that," Lillen said. She traced the rim of the mortar with her eyes before pushing the pestle down again. "Still, I'm glad you managed to tucker him out. Fightin' the sedative and pain duller all morning hasn't been good for his health; about time he took a nap."

"Glad to help," Krosah said. Lillen was speaking and mashing her herbs as though nothing had happened, tone and eyes deceptively light, and the squirrel was struck of the sudden awkwardness of whether or not to acknowledge what they'd just heard to each other. Had Dipper just been speaking to him, Krosah thought, or both of them? He'd heard Lillen before, but he also happened to be on enough herbs to drop a badger, so the weasel might've not realized she was there…

Krosah cleared his throat, coughing into the back of his paw. He gave a clumsy tug on Dipper's covers in an attempt to pull them up further over the sleeping weasel's chest. All he managed to do was get half of the blanket up, Dipper's arm pinning the other section down in a wad of wrinkles. Krosah desperately tried to keep his burning face in a dignified expression as he lifted Dipper's arm to jerk the rest of the blanket level. The squirrel swore he saw a smile on the corners of Lillen's mouth and a dart of movement from the corner of her eyes as she continued working away at the herbs.

When Krosah let Dipper's arm down and moved back with the most composed and flat expression as he could muster, Lillen looked equally nonchalant, eyes down and attention completely focused on the herbs. She tipped a tiny stained jar's worth of faded purple flower crumbles into the pestle, giving Krosah an offhanded wave as he left.

"Bye, Krosah." The squirrel saw another grin on her face as she crouched over her job. Krosah waved back and skittered out the door, the room suddenly feeling crowded.

"Bye, Lillen," he said, hastily shutting the door behind him. A soft chuckle followed that was cut off by the closing door.

Krosah went to head back towards his room, rubbing his claws against the cheek Dipper had been staring at. Why hadn't Lillen said anything? If a beyond drugged weasel could even notice it, the close-stitching and ever-examining shrew could. Was every other beast really thinking he was going to break down in a fit of sobbing or howling like a triggered Ashtip if they brought it up? Some voices floated from down the hall, still too faint to make out even in the quiet, but Krosah shook his head as he realized the sound of scrabbling claws on stone was coming towards him. He looked up to see Farflit marching straight down the hall, closing the distance swiftly with his short legs. His half-torn off tail swung behind him and disheveled fur stuck up at odd angles.

When he saw Krosah right in front of the infirmary door, his strides slowed. The fox came to a stop a few steps away as if he'd have barreled right into the squirrel if he kept walking. The scar on his mouth was more crooked than usual due to the set way he had his thick jaw shut at. Krosah removed his paw from his face, feeling the vermin's eyes search him over like an otter searching for a rotten spot on a fish before they peeled away in seconds.

"Good morning, Farflit," Krosah said. He eyed the grey fox's ruffled fur and bit back a comment about waking up on the wrong side of the bed. Martin knew he'd be the raven calling the crow black if he did. Besides that, the short beast seemed unsettled, both of his ears flicking back to catch the echoes from the hall behind before they stood again.

"Good mornin', Krosah," Farflit said. His eyes slid from the squirrel to the infirmary door, both of his paws hanging still by his sides. "Were you sleepin' in the infirmary? …any news from gettin' that examined?" The fox pointedly looked at Krosah's bandaged side.

"I— what?" Krosah said. He gave a short laugh at the grey fox's confusion, seeing the other beast gradually hooking his thumb into the side of his pants belt. Farflit was still stony-faced and unmoving. "No, I didn't. I'm fine; I slept in my dormitory. Didn't get bit or anything. I just stopped by this morning to say hi to Dipper."

Some of the hardness cleared from Farflit's face, and fox marginally relaxed. Krosah saw edges of fur he hadn't known were bristling settling down. The other beast lifted his paw from his side and dangled it again, ears perking up as Krosah heard the distant voices approaching. Farflit glanced behind him. His slot-filled ear was suddenly twitching.

"That's good to hear," Farflit said. He stepped aside from Krosah, face growing emotionless and cold again as he started for the infirmary before the squirrel could register he was moving. "Now then, I think I'm goin' to speak to Dipper for a moment."

"Hold up, Farfilt," Krosah said, leaping back and sliding in front of the infirmary door. His side wounds stung in pain. The fox stiffened at his move, refusing to step back from where he'd stood in front of the entrance. He and Krosah's chests almost touched. "Dipper's hurt and he just started sleeping; you're gonna wake him up if you go in."

Something moved far back in Farflit's composed expression, his eyes darting to the side with his flicking ear at the still far off voices. The squirrel noticed that he had another thin scar across the less-furred part of his throat as well as the side of his mouth. Krosah's fur itched in discomfort at how close the fox was, he staring at him to drive the point back: _you're too close._ Farflit didn't seem to care or notice, staring right back. His brown eyes remained nearly stone-like in their stoic demeanor. Krosah could see his paw beginning to creep up to the side of his belt again like Markus's fingers made their way to a paper to twiddle with whenever he was nervous.

"This won't take long. Krosah, yer in the way. Move."

Krosah frowned, shoving himself more in the doorframe as Farflit made to move forward. The fox's eyes snapped up to glare at his face again, the squirrel's stomach flipping in uneasiness. Maybe he _should_ move. If the vermin hadn't been trying his patience so much or trying to awaken Dipper after the draining talk he'd just had with the squirrel he'd lent his dagger to, Krosah might've just done that.

"Look, Farflit, you're not HEY!" Krosah yelled, side stinging in pain as a blur of grey movement bumped past his bandaged side and turned the door knob. Farflit almost squashed him against the doorframe as the shorter and bulkier beast tried to slip himself by Krosah, body twisting with the dubious flexibility only a fox could manage.

If he'd have been a little thinner, he would've made it. Krosah wheezed in anger and surprise as he side burned, lashing out at the fluffy grey back and ragged tail that were halfway through the door. The squirrel grabbed him by the shoulder and furry tufts on his nape, throwing his body against the vermin's to shove him back out into the hallway with every bit of strength he had. Krosah's vision was blurred with tears of pain as the grey furred beast finally went sliding back over the rock, his fur on end. For being a condensed instead of wily-figured fox, Farflit was stinking _strong._

"You bloody fox, what's wrong with you?" Krosah snapped, trying not to clutch his torn side too hard. His shivering fingers set against the cloth as if he could categorize the pain just by gripping around the wound. Farflit was keeping his distance now, glaring at the squirrel again with ruffled fur. His eyes searched every bit of space in the cracked infirmary door around him, seeking the best place to squeeze by. The vermin looked the closest to fidgeting that Krosah had ever seen him. "Vulpez, you don't hafta wait that long to see him or Lillen! I didn't think you even—"

Krosah stopped in the middle of forming a crude comment as he saw a block of brown poking up from the side of Farflit's pants like a stick of wood. He'd accidentally clawed part of the grey fox's pants down as he was pushing him back, and now one side hung lower on his waist than before. A loop of cloth held the familiar rounded and worn shape hidden in the corner of the fox's gypsy-style trousers. Krosah remembered his paw making contact with hard as he shoved him back. He sensed the fox freezing up and glaring at his face.

The squirrel looked up at Farflit.

"You have a dagger hidden in your pants."

Farflit lunged for the door again just as Krosah chattered and braced himself.


	11. Chapter 11

Krosah was almost thrown through the infirmary door with the force Farflit hit his side. The squirrel wheezed, arms stretching in pain as he kept his claws sunk into the doorframe, and the fox bounced off his ribs. Krosah clumsily tried to knee him as Farflit ground his feet into the stone floor and made a move to slip by. His knee barely grazed against longer fur, the grey fox snaking out of the way and dancing back. Krosah could hear own his breath starting to catch in his throat as Farflit observed him from a short distance away. The fox pulled his pants corner up over the hidden dagger again.

"What are you _doing_?" Krosah said. Disbelief and anger ran through his pounding ribs as Farflit went into another crouch without hesitation. He felt the fox's predatory eyes looking over him, pinpointing his bandaged side and strained arms. Krosah tried again. "Why are you carrying a dagger?"

There was no answer from the emotionless gaze. Krosah's raw side ached at the thought of the fox colliding with him again.

"I'm takin' care of business an' helpin' the Abbey," Farflit said, advancing again. His fur stuck up at wayward angles that betrayed his stoic disposition, and his shredded ear had begun its spastic twitching again. "Move an' I won't have to knock you out."

The jumble of voices from down the hall was growing louder, Farflit visibly tensing as he heard them. Krosah chattered in rage at his action and crouched in response. Without taking his attention from the fox, he shut the cracked open infirmary door with one paw. Farflit's gaze became more intense as he heard it click shut.

"I don't think so," Krosah spat, fur on end as he thought of battered Dipper in the infirmary cot, weasel's voice raspy and eyes glazed, and the feisty white-spotted Lillen watching over him. "I don't know what the Hellgates you're planning with that knife, vermin, but I ain't moving. You're not getting close to Lillen or Dipper."

The voices were louder now, the sound of footsteps pounding down the hall and a familiar accent in some of the words, but Farflit was through waiting. Krosah saw a haze of grey fur and a streaming ripped tail behind it before a jab deflected the squirrel's defensive punch, and a fist slammed into his jaw. The entire world went dark in a shockwave of pain that rang through his bones, blood red circles swimming in front of his eyes. The taste of liquid metal ran over his tongue. Krosah heard and felt the dull crack of his knees hitting the floor.

Fur and hard warm muscle pressed against his shoulder as somebeast leaned over him. There was a distant click of a door opening and a bark of surprise.

"FARFLIT!" Skipper roared, otter storming down the hall and catching up to his quarry. The grey fox froze in the process of reaching over the stunned Krosah and opening the door, staring at the chieftain.

In a few more moments, Krosah could hear and see clearly again, and the squirrel gasped as light flooded back into his vision, the most agony he'd ever been in pounding through his face. He reached up and grabbed his jaw, clutching the wet trickle running down from the side. Watery tears of pain shed from his eyes as he blinked them out.

"Don't ye _move_," Skipper growled, closing the distance between him and the two in the infirmary door. He focused on Farflit the whole time, keeping the fox taut where he was. With or with his jovial attitude, he was still a towering otter covered in layers of muscle and holt tattoos.

When he stepped forward, the grey fox seemed to come to life again, stiff pose dropping into one less aggressive. He looked at the otter standing in front of them with his composed expression back in place. Behind him, Krosah stifled his last swears and drawn-out breaths and struggled up to his feet.

"Skipper," Farflit said. Krosah was reminded of his attitude and positioning on the walltop.

Skipper Jalik didn't give the fox the chance to say anything else. In one movement, the much taller otter picked the vermin up by his scruff and shoulders like a disobedient cub and set him down several feet away. The fox's feet hadn't even touched the floor.

Farflit blinked and stared in surpise as Skipper put him down, eyes wide in disbelief over his handling. Krosah tried not to goggle from where he leaned on the door. Skipper merely cracked his knuckles and turned back to the squirrel, stepping between the two beasts.

"Krosah, ye alright?" he said. Skipper Jalik eyed his busted jaw. Krosah could already feel it beginning to throb from his cheek right down to the tips of his teeth. "He boxed ye pretty hard."

"I'm okay," Krosah said, dizzily pushing himself upright the last few inches. His body lurched, but he refused to grab for the doorframe again. The pained stars and circles were no longer swimming through his vision, but the world was blurry, as if he was seeing it through a puddle of water. Krosah tried to blink it away before an image of a peeping dagger hilt flashed in his mind.

"Farflit's got a dagger," he said.

Farflit bristled slightly at his words, but the vermin held his tongue as Skipper turned to face him. Two beasts with over a foot in height difference stared each other down. Farflit twitched where he stood, composure slipping.

"Ye want t' explain what yore doin' with a blade an' punchin' Krosah in the face t' get int' the infirmary for?" Skipper said, looming over the fox. Farflit's jaw clenched.

"What I was doin', otter," he said, paws at his sides itching to curl into fists but being halted whenever they moved, "was takin' care of somethin' you would've had to deal with later." The cold strain was back in Farflit's voice, and the remaining fur on his tail and shoulders began to rise. All of the bright sunshine beaming through the stain glass windows seemed to darken a few shades.

"Nobeast planned on hittin' Krosah later," Skipper Jalik said. His own tone gained some unpleasantness as he glared down his dark eyes, whiskery muzzle disapproving. "I'm assumin' ye remember the Abbess an' the Code don't like any kind of fightin'?"

Something in Krosah's stomach rolled over at the thought of the Code and the implications facing Dipper for his actions. Farflit looked unabashed.

"Completely. Only in self-defense," Farflit said, and Krosah caught his knowing glimpse towards the infirmary that suddenly made the squirrel feel sick. He knew what had happened. "An' with _him_ in there, they'll be plenty of that in the future if you don't do anythin'."

The fox's paw dropped to the side of his pants with the hidden dagger under it, one finger pressing on the hilt, and the realization hit Krosah the same time a new wave of pain from his jaw did. The squirrel could hear his own words playing over in his head from when Dipper had unsheathed an inch of his dagger on the walltop from so long ago.

'—_this is Redwall, you can't always just solve the problem by killing them—'_

"Dipper won't be doin' anything," Skipper said, a sharp bark in his voice as he sensed what Farfilt was thinking. "One, he's injured, an' two, he's not sick with the Madness yet." The otter set himself in an intimidating stance. "An' three, he happens t' be a fellow member of this abbey that ye can't lay a paw on."

"The White Madness doesn't care whether he's a Redwaller or not," Farflit testily snapped. He gestured towards the door, impatience breaking through. "He's been bit. In a season or less, he'll be as droolin' an' broken as every other beast out there. He has to be dealt with before then, an' I'm tryin' to do it."

"Dipper wasn't bit!" Krosah yelled, clawing the door frame as he took a step forward and lurched over. His head pounded again. "Lillen TOLD me, she looked over him—"

"You think Lillen would tell the truth with him lyin' right there?" Farflit said, turning on Krosah. His eyes had lit up with ferocity, but he refused to come closer. Skipper's back muscles flexed from where he stood but he remained unmoving. Krosah felt like Farflit's gaze was melting a hole in his face. "Or that she'd give the news to an unstable an' traumatized squirrel youth who didn't know a damn thin' about what happened?"

"I was there!" Krosah said, jaws aching as he tried to pull answers from the depth of his head. The taste of blood in his mouth brought up fragments of tormented screaming and bones smashing. Skipper was trying to edge further between them. "I _saw_ what happened to him; I pulled that stinking squirrel offa him!"

_The sharpened blade of the dagger sank hilt deep into the other squirrel's arm just as its jaws snapped around the place where Dipper was, it screaming at the feel of cold metal slicing its way through its muscle before it turned with a vengeance. _

"You were there, an' you didn't understand a damn thin'," Farflit said. His disorganized fur was almost shaking on his body, and Krosah felt things falling to shards inside himself as the fox's composure did. Thousands of accusations at himself began to whisper in the squirrel's mind from where he'd been pushing them away all night. Farflit gave a nearly hateful smile of bared teeth.

"Yer a green an' untried squirrel that's been hidin' behind the Abbess an' Redwall yer whole life. You've never held a dagger that's yers, never seen or been in an actual fight without the Forest Patrol, an' you think _you_ were able to watch an' analyze the fight between them? Were able to see every blow an' bite they traded? You couldn't see past the blood an' screamin'." Farflit said. The knowledge in his voice crushed down on Krosah's chest like the vermin's fist had on his jaw. The fox leaned in even closer.

"You couldn't even stand it enough to help him while he was in one piece."

"Farflit—" Skipper warned.

"That's a lie," Krosah snarled. He could hear his own words fracturing with rage and shaking underneath pressure as the gory images from last night crawled through his head, the screaming Dipper and squirrel rolling over and over ripping into each other with the fervor of beasts gone mad— though only one had. At every brutal strike and tearing of fangs and claws, his memories blurred into uncomprehending shapes. He couldn't tell what was going on in his own recollections. Had he ever?

"I know what happened. Lillen— Lillen checked him; she woulda known, I SAW him!" Krosah said, on the verge of yelling. His face burned as his mouth rapidly moved. The half-lie about seeing Dipper emerged from the lingering thoughts of his stitched together pelt and the imperfect way he'd been sewn back together again. It came out without regret. The squirrel couldn't make the answer to any other of Farflit's questions come out. "There was _nothing_ on him that looked like a bite!"

Farflit's ears riveted to listen to something on the other end of the hall again, the grey fox momentarily becoming rigid before he leaned forward and began his verbal assault again. Krosah saw right past Skipper between them, ignoring the blocking presence of the chieftain's body. He and Farflit were set on each other, and the vermin wasn't about to let a prey go.

"Madbeasts don't leave clear bites on somebeast who gets out of the way an' bites back," Farflit said, shifting his weight agitatedly. Krosah felt he'd rather be slipping into a crouch or circling him and Skipper like a hungry pike. "But since you saw the fight, you should know that, squirrel," he said, a hint of the cruel taunt buried underneath urgency peeking up. "It's a mess of Hellgates an' limbs. The sick beasts fight to rip each other to pieces no matter how. Dipper didn't stand still an' just let him sink in his teeth in, did he?" he said. The question came laced with barbs. "I don't even need to see him to know the weasel's a torn mess with more stitches in him than fur. That's just how fights with beasts infected with the White Madness go. Even yer precious truth-bendin' Lillen wouldn't be able to tell how much were claw rents an' how much were teeth rips."

"Shut up," Krosah said. A torn Skipper Jalik was caught between watching both of them.

"Both of ye, watch yoreselves," Skipper rumbled, turning his head to look fixedly at both of them. Krosah didn't even see the expression on his face through his own concentrated glare of hate on the fox across from him. His paws had balled into shaking fists.

Farflit refused to blink and give quarter after he glanced down the hall again. He began to pace where he was, a ragged animal underneath his no-longer-composed and ruffled grey fur. Krosah would've been happy to see the vermin's composure break if he didn't feel himself coming apart at the seams with fur on end and harder breathing through the pain and blurred memories.

"You both need to goddamn understand!" Farflit snapped, raking his claws through the air. His scarred mouth closed with an emphasized snap of fangs on fangs. The fox's paw lunged down to the dagger hidden on his hip and squeezed it, ready to rip through the material to get it out, but not touching the hilt. Skipper's body strained like a coiled spring. Farflit jerked a paw up and pointed to the door. "In a few weeks, he's goin' to be a danger to everybeast in close quarters with him! He'll tear them apart an' make a pile of corpses out of them, or at the very least, _bite them,_ an' all because neither of you could raise a stinkin' blade to his throat!"

Farflit stomped on the floor as he turned on his heel, caged in an imaginary prison he paced within. In one flurry of his fingers his paw had gone from squeezing the dagger to having the blade poised in them with a whirl of metal. Skipper gave a warning growl as Krosah pushed off from the doorframe and clumsily held himself up in front of the doorknob.

"You're not gonna kill him or Lillen, vermin," he snarled. Agony shot through his punched teeth as they clacked together and his bandages constricted around his waist.

"Farflit, put the dagger up," Skipper said, posed and ready for intervention. All signs of being the mediator had vanished from the otter's manner.

"Dipper needs to die," Farflit said, gripping the dagger hilt so hard his knuckles shivered in protest. He still didn't get closer to Skipper or Krosah, but now his hideous and cold stare was directed at both of them. "I won't need to kill Lillen or anybeast around her; Dipper'll take care of that an' others in the abbey by himself! I can keep that from happenin' by slittin' his throat right now, an' Hellgates, if I need to add another sacrifice to the pile with somebeast in the way—" he snarled.

"Farflit?" a puzzled voice said. The grey fox completely froze up in his frantic and disheveled state, lowering the dagger he'd began violently gesturing with. Krosah and Skipper were surprised enough to drop out of their tensed states, the otter straightening up from his crouch. Krosah whipped his head around to see who it was. He immediately winced at the pain it caused him.

"Jessy!" Krosah said. A brief wave of relief cleared away his cluttered thoughts. The glasses wearing mouse had just emerged from a door further down the hall and walked closer to them, clutching a few stamped scrolls to her chest and habit sleeves hanging from around her wrists. A look of confusion and apprehension was beginning to come over her as she slowly looked at the positions everybeast was in, from the scruffy and wild Farflit with dagger in paw to a bandaged Krosah with blood trickling out the side of his mouth and the Skipper parked directly between the two.

"Krosah! You're alright!" Jessy said, momentarily brightening up. "I was looking all over for you this morning after Lillen said you hadn't come in— I got to see a little of Dipper too, poor beast, I hope he heals quickly— but… what's going on?" she said, happiness fading. Jessy looked at them all with a small frown tugging at the sides of her mouth, slowly walking forward as her eyes swept over them. She started as her vision paused on the squirrel. "Krosah, you're bleeding."

"Just had a small scrap," Krosah said, deliberately looking at Farflit. The fox had sheathed his dagger and was watching Jessy with vested discomfort, standing in place with arms hanging by his sides as though nothing had happened at all. Jessy followed the line of his sight, continuing to take gradual steps forward. The mousemaid looked like she was treading on eggshells.

"Are ye done with checkin' where ye needed t', Jessy?" Skipper said, changing the topic from the risky direction it was heading. "Ye told me ye had somethin' important t' do down here, but ye went int' another room before I could finish accompanyin' ye t' it."

"I— what?" Jessy said, breaking out of her distracted observation of Farflit. The fox wasn't meeting her eyes, glaring at Krosah and the infirmary door. Most of his fidgeting had stilled. "Oh, yes. Sorry about that Skipper. I had to pick up some scrolls from the library up here first; Lillen said she didn't have them nearby."

"Ah, that's right," Skipper said, remembering. He relaxed his broad shoulders further. Krosah could see his round little ears tilting more towards Farflit. "Ye an' Lillen were studyin' up on a cure. Forgive me memory. It needs a liddle joggin'."

"Not just studying anymore," Jessy said. Her magnified eyes lit up underneath her glasses with a hope Krosah didn't think he'd ever be seeing that day, and she held the scrolls tighter to herself. "We've both looked at a lot of Sister May's old notes, and Lillen says she should be able to fill in some of the gaps with new herbs the Sparra can get— we might have a chance!"

"Are you serious?" Krosah said, gawking at her as Skipper gave a low whistle of amazement. The hideous sting that had come from Farflit's words and visions of Dipper's lines and lines of rolling and prickly stitches disappeared in one moment of hope. He even had a quick thought of the cloaked beasts outside. _They had a chance._ "Jessy, you're bloody amazing!"

The mouse flushed, still lit up with excitement. "It was both Lillen and I, not just me. And there's lots of problems with the solution so far… not to mention it doesn't exist yet, and won't for a while. But we still have the beginning of it."

The memory of slobbering and limping beasts in cloaks as their bodies broke down on them slipped from Krosah's mind. They might've not had a chance after all, he thought. But as long as Dipper and the dibbuns did if they were bitten, then fine.

Skipper glanced between the silent Farflit's face and Jessy's excited one. The fox was still deathly quiet, and his paws were in the process of balling into fists that looked ready to rip his pants cloth into shreds. The otter relaxed his arms back with a purposeful casualness. "Tis beyond amazing, Jessy. So where are ye an' Lillen workin' on this beauty?"

Jessy gave a small smile. Krosah could feel her watching them again with searching eyes. "The infirmary. Lillen and I are going to be working in there for a while. We have a lot of herbs to look at, so it'll take a few weeks. Lillen even offered me a bed there if I wanted to stay close!" she said cheerfully. Farflit's shoulders had gone rigid with tension. "Can you believe that? We're both practically going to be camping in there." Jessy laughed. "I hope neither of us turns into healer versions of Markus. We'll need sunshine every now and then."

Skipper had been watching Farflit's face and reactions the whole time Jessy had been speaking. He eyed the stiff and anxious way the fox was looking between Jessy and the infirmary door, putting two and two together. "So that's why," he said. Jessy raised her eyebrows in surprise as she saw Skipper turning his head and directing the words at Farflit. The fox looked up at the otter and didn't say a word.

"What's going on?" Jessy said, concern leaking into her voice. She lowered her scrolls and moved closer to the pair. "Farflit, are you alright?"

"He's fine," Skipper said, the fox starting as Jessy came close. He forced some of the tension out of his body, with mixed success. Krosah could still sense the accusations and anger at he and Skipper pouring out into the air. "Farflit an' Krosah an' me were just discussin' a few current problems on the Abbey's paws. We got a bit spirited about things when we shouldn't have."

Skipper had backed up from his position as middle buffer and stood next to Krosah, thumping him on the shoulder as Jessy fluttered around Farflit.

"In fact, I don't think Farflit's feelin' too well. Ye might want t' take him down t' the kitchen t' get some tea 'o somethin' for his belly."

Jessy's gaze moved to Farflit. The vermin gave a squirm of discomfort under her gaze that Krosah barely caught. The mousemaid seemed to see it just fine, however. Jessy transferred her scrolls to one arm and reached for Farflit, laying a paw on his upper arm. Despite the fact that the fox could've torn out of her grip easily, he didn't move. The longer he looked at the young mousemaid the more trapped he seemed, Krosah thought. It was like watching Markus stare after Ortho before the younger hare panicked and chased after him when he left for elsewhere.

"Farflit, you're really not looking that good…" Jessy said. Her arm filled with scrolls lurched up as if she was going to try and touch the fox with her other paw. It stopped in the middle of the move and went back to her chest to pin the scrolls down. Jessy suddenly became busy with cleaning her glasses with that paw. She looked to Krosah the same time Farflit's eyes flicked over to him. "Do you want me to grab something for you too, Krosah? After all, last night was rough."

"No thanks. I'm good," Krosah said. He held back the impulse to glare at Farflit and spit some final insults at him— well, most of the impulse. Farflit took his glare like it was nothing.

"In that case, see you, Krosah. Bye, Skipper." Jessy said, turning and beginning to walk down the hall. Farflit walked alongside her as though her barely resting paw on his upper arm was a vice-like grip equivalent to Ruae's.

A fair distance away from the infirmary door, just as Skipper and Krosah were beginning to relax and Farflit and Jessy had stepped out of the light of a stained glass window, Farflit stopped. The grey fox looked over his shoulders at the two woodlanders behind him. Krosah swallowed his chatter of anger at the cold stare in his eyes, the fox's free paw reaching down to rest on his hidden dagger hilt. Jessy had gone ahead of him by a step, the mouse looking back at him with surprise.

"Yer goin' to have to deal with this." Farflit said. Krosah bristled and pushed his back further against the green infirmary door the vermin's eyes had gone to.

"We will," Skipper spoke calmly. He returned Farflit's stare. "If we need t' in the future, we'll handle it with our own paws."

"You'd better. Or I will." Farflit said bluntly. He waved a paw at Skipper, ignoring the curious Jessy. His stare locked onto the otter and cut Krosah out of his focus. "You know the proverb, Skipper."

Skipper Jalik's brow twitched, but he said nothing. Farflit turned his back on them for the last time, stalking down the hall with Jessy in tow. The mousemaid gave them all concerned and confused looks before she was forced to look away and focus on going after Farflit, her paw still resting on his arm despite his faster steps. Krosah saw his paw had drifted off his hidden dagger hilt.

Squirrel and otter stood there in silence until Farflit and Jessy vanished around the far end of the hall. Krosah barely managed to hold back a curse, kicking at the floor instead of doing what he felt like and punching the infirmary door. His jaw rewarded him with another jarring wave of pain.

"That two-faced _fox_!" he snarled, voice still sounding a hint hoarse from anger and agony. His tail curled up behind his head like twisted pine branch. "He can't talk about killing Dipper a doorway behind his back and then just strut off!" More furious words rose up in Krosah's throat, but pain and a raw feeling kept him from voicing them. He took a few deep breathes, rubbing his paw against his eyes and tugging on his side bandages. Skipper turned to face him as he calmed down.

"Watch yore language, Krosah," Skipper said. "Dipper's not the only one a door away, an' we don't need t' start another argument an' panic over what we've got already." The otter grimaced at the far off turn in the hall Jessy and Farflit had taken. "Besides, he won't do anythin' yet. I'll keep an eye on him."

Krosah remembered some of Farflit's parting words besides the others currently burning in his mind. "What kinda proverb nonsense was he talking about, Skipper?" he said.

Skipper Jalik remained where he was as Krosah moved out of the doorway to look down the hall with him. "Farflit was always quotin' some fox proverb 'o another whenever he was hangin' around the holt. I remember a certain one that stuck out, though. Hm, how did it go again?" Skipper paused before clearing his throat. Krosah's ears stood up as he listened.

"_A fox who fights an' runs away_

_Can return t' fight another day._"

The proverb ended with an ominous finality to its words. Krosah observed the deserted red hall stretching out in front of him and Skipper, sectioned off by the rectangular window light pouring in. He and the otter watched the faint red and rainbow glow that lit up the floating dust motes with a sense of peace and stability. It didn't even seem like Farflit had ran from them. But he had, no matter the quiet and undisturbed aurora of Redwall's hall.

When he returned, he wouldn't be running again.

But neither would they, Krosah thought, clenching his fists harder. If the fox came back ready to deal with them, then he'd get to swallow his words about Krosah never having held a blade of his own— especially if the squirrel took up Dipper's dagger. It might've been borrowed, but seeing the state Dipper was in now, it was his until otherwise. And Krosah didn't think he'd mind dirtying the metal again if it meant saving somebeast's life, whether it stretched the boundaries of the Code or not.

Krosah relaxed his paws as Skipper prodded him into the infirmary to get something for his swelling jaw.


	12. Chapter 12

It was all his fault.

For the fifth time that morning, Markus buried his face in his paws, digging his fingers in above his eyes and desperately clenching in, as if pressing hard enough would crack into his skull or force new ideas into his head. None came. The bed underneath him gave another dismal creak.

He'd left the room only once after his sleepy eyes had opened to see Makara leaning over him and shaking his arm, squirrel's mouth forming words that would drift into his ears and stop his heart. Markus felt all of him sinking again as he pressed his fingers into his face harder, a part of him he couldn't identify shaking.

'_Markus, Judspike and Milly are gone.'_

It didn't matter that Ruae had caught him by the shoulders and cut off his rattling, desperate apology after he'd taken off down the stairs towards the otter with his habit lopsided and every bit of him off-kilter. The reassurance about 'not yore fault' was meaningless in his ears. He had been supposed to watch them. _All _of them, Markus thought, including Missus Ruae, who'd spent her whole life watching and guarding others and deserved a break. And instead, he'd almost gotten her grandson killed and two of the other cubs abducted.

Markus shifted his weight, and the covers beneath him twisted in further dishevelment. The normally neat and made bed covers were still peeled back as if they'd just been gotten out of in the morning. Green folds and wrinkles lay squashed underneath the hare and spread across the cot. The cheery sunshine pouring in through the small windows in the shared dorm room seemed to be mocking him with their warm rays. At this point, his bed looked like Ortho's, Markus thought, fingers still digging into his brows. He didn't need to open his eyes to see his brother's unmade and beaten bed across the room from him, all the covers looking just like a tangled mess of curtains someone had thrown down.

The Abbess had moved Ortho out of a main dorm room after he'd been appointed champion— and also after possibly listening to some suggestions coming from their roommates. She'd moved Markus at the same time as well, letting the siblings share a close-quarter room that reminded Markus of their bunk beds in Salamandastron. Perhaps this had been a quiet signal of hers to Ortho that he wasn't a full champion with all the rights that came with it. Not yet.

Or maybe she'd been telling Markus that he needed to try and shove his brother to maturity and responsibility, which was the same duty his family in Salamandastron had been grinding down on him. If they could see him now, they'd be furious, Markus thought. He dug his claws in deeper. He curled up in a ball and buried his face in his knees, clenching paws and all.

Nobeast in Salamandastron would've tolerated his failures with the dibbuns or Ortho. He wasn't allowed failure. He was allowed _responsibility._ And if he messed up with that, then he'd messed up with _everything_— especially if it dealt with the safety of his Redwall family.

Judspike or Milly could be dead or terrorized thanks to him, Markus thought, insides giving a churn at the memory of the spiky dibbun clinging to his back and hiding from Nugg's parents. The tiny cellarhog could barely greet anyone but his father and close friends without shy edging and hints of childish fear in his eyes. What would he do with an entire group of foaming and slobbering sickbeasts around him? Markus thought of Milly, another tremor making its way through inside him. He knew Milly would try to protect Judspike, but she was only a soft mousemaid who wore habits with sleeves far too floppy that hung over her paws and argued with Ruae over bedtime. She was a _cub._ She wouldn't be able to do anything even if she wasn't sobbing in fear somewhere.

'_Responsibility is the job of the oldest or most capable.'_

Markus and Ortho's father had said that while he was sternly looking over them in the emptied weapons room, a thin tint of grey already lining his fur and his rapier hanging off his hip. Markus had seen him stare pointedly at Ortho during his words— some of that familiar disappointment leaking into the atmosphere at a time before either of the brothers knew it would eventually get much heavier and much more familiar— but his eyes had moved to Markus, too. He'd gotten the message. _Our family is made of heroes and warriors. Don't let us down._

But everything was in pieces, Markus realized, hare's eyes drifting to the stone floor as he finally opened them. His knees and cupped paws over his face made the world so much darker and smaller.

Ortho had the looks and boldness, the fighting spirit, the perilousness, but he didn't have the paper and document responsibility or what their parents called 'maturity.' But Markus was purely average in all the categories Ortho dominated, and took care of all the papers and little apologies for things here and there that his brother didn't— things that his _older_ brother didn't take care of, despite the fact that all the other older brothers in Salamondastron seemed to get to great and grown-up places while their younger ones floated in immaturity. That they seemed to take care of everything for their younger siblings that Markus did for Ortho.

His parents were talking to him when they told him and Ortho not to disappoint them and take responsibility, Markus had discovered, he writing his papers and attacking etiquette class until his paws ached and his fingers almost bled. Ortho was the closest to a real warrior that they wanted, belayed only by his failure in stiff academic classes. Markus wasn't what they wanted. Not at all.

But he could take care of that mistake, Markus had thought, continuing to write under the lantern light. Since he couldn't become as good as everyone else in fighting, he would do all the things Ortho couldn't or wouldn't do for him.

If it got his older brother closer to warrior— or even hero— in the eyes of others, Markus had thought, then it was worth it. As long that happened, how much he had to do didn't matter. Markus could spend his whole life practicing weapons and never rise above the other hares. He could never be a warrior. He knew he couldn't. Not even when his parents smiled at him and Ortho laughed and called him 'slayer of the bally papers.'

Only taking care of papers wasn't something warriors and good hares did. Markus was good at that. He could never be a warrior.

But _Ortho_, Ortho was perfect in fighting and more of a hare than he was; Ortho could become a warrior— could become a hero— if Markus did all the things he scoffed at and then gave them up to his older brother or snuck them to the teachers whenever Ortho refused to take Markus's work. Ortho could be the best oldest brother in Salamandastron without taking care of all the responsibilities for their younger ones, or ever giving Markus advice about something, or ever handling a situation that the oldest would normally have to arrange or shoulder the burden of…

Their father had said that the most capable took responsibility. And because he was the most capable in writing and arranging things, it obviously meant that _he_ had to take responsibility for all of Ortho's academics, Markus had thought, continuing to write even though his fingers screamed. It obviously meant that he had to do whatever Ortho didn't, or all their father's disappointment was really directed towards him, because it was his _responsibility._ 'Responsibility is everything,' as their father had once said.

His thoughts had changed since those seasons ago at Salamandastron, Markus thought, his mouth getting pulled up in a lopsided smile against his will. But not much. He felt more like retching or melting himself into his bed than smiling. The hare managed to pull his paws away from his face and uncurled from his ball, letting them slump into his lamp. He stared at his slender and thin-calloused fingers.

There were things he had to do just because Ortho wouldn't take care of them, not because he couldn't. Not everything he shouldered for his sibling made him into a better champion, though Dark Forest Gates knew his parents had given him that duty… and he hadn't even been able to take care of his younger family in the Abbey on top of failing to help his blood-related older one.

They were his responsibility and family. He should be the one to go get them.

NO, the rational part of Markus's brain spoke up, the hare immediately shaking his head to snap himself back to reality. Was he insane? Sonor Whiteclaw's group was a mess of powerful lunacy and decaying minds; they'd rip him apart like a worm in a flock of Sparra. Who would be crazy enough to put one beast against thirty slobbering and sadistic others? He wasn't Ortho, Krosah, or Dipper; he'd hardly be able to fend them off with two terrified dibbuns in paw, and if they got hurt thanks to him…

That could've already happened, Markus told himself. He looked at his paws in disgust, clenching his fists. Why had he let Ortho put him to bed? He'd had important things to, and then he'd gone and shirked his tasks, and look where it had lead things. It didn't matter that this was the only time he'd done it. He'd still created a horrible situation that shouldn't exist— two kidnapped dibbuns, a beaten and insane squirrel in the infirmary, an injured and traumatized Krosah, and a torn-to-pieces and permanently scarred Dipper.

Despite the fact that Ortho had set of streak of disappointments for their parents and teachers, he'd never let Markus or their mother or father get hurt. Ever.

Ortho would've never let this happen if he was in his place, Markus thought. He might neglect many other things, but family safety was _never_ one.

Markus stared at his long and skinny legs, the crisp sunshine pouring through the window still mocking him. He slowly gripped something only he could see in the air, miming the posture needed to hold a dagger. Well, he might not be as good in combat as Ortho, but he HAD been trained and passed the tests Salamandastron's hares required. He was certainly better equipped to handle the situation than poor Judspike's rotund father and Milly's sweet and worrying soft parents, and he'd done better than Ortho in the stealth and reconnoiter tasks. His thin and unassuming form could be put to use in _something_.

Not a good idea, a small voice in his head warned as Markus hesitantly stood up and looked at his bag hanging over the room's desk. His and Ortho's shared table was small and chipped with age, only one chair in front of it, and it was cluttered with neat piles of Markus's things and the leaning and haphazard piles of Ortho's, which seemed to defy gravity. There were at least two little tankards and one big rock being used as paperweights. All the same, there was space in the worn desk's middle. It was certainly enough to place Markus's scrolls and quills on if he stacked them carefully.

He might not stand a chance in a fight, but a stealth rescue wasn't a fight, was it? Markus thought, hare slowly walking towards his bag. He knelt down by it and flipped the satchel top over. His supplies and cramped together scrolls stared up at him. None of them were as important as getting Judspike and Milly back, yet they were the only things he'd been working on and proficient at creating for seasons. The Abbess, Skipper, Miss Makara, Mister Krosah, Miss Jessy, and Ortho didn't need to be burdened with his mistakes— he could fix them himself. It was what he was for.

Sonor was probably expecting a whole otter holt and the Forest Patrol to come after him. He'd never count on a single sneaky hare coming, not to mention so soon. Ortho wouldn't notice his absence either if he left quietly, either. The older sibling and everyone else were in a meeting.

_All he needs is a push._

Markus emptied his bag and carefully stacked every one of his scrolls, books, and various writing supplies on the desk. His skin began to feel hot, crawling over him as he slung the empty bag over his shoulder and snuck out into the empty hall and made a beeline for the small armory. Every one of the hare's footsteps softly echoed off the walls and deserted red stone passage. The meeting and foreboding mood had absorbed everybeast else, leaving Markus alone in the hollow passages.

Rope, a small dagger, and a wrap of bandages were the bare essentials he could cut the supply list down to, Markus thought, preparations cranking in his head. He tried to wind in his stride and make it seem like he wasn't running, but his legs didn't want to listen, energy soaring through him. Markus felt his mouth go oddly dry and tingles of a dark excitement move through his skin. Was he happy about doing this, or terrified? If Ortho found he was missing and got worried—

_Stop thinking about him right now._

He couldn't go get any scones for Judspike and Milly since the kitchen was one of the most crowded places today, though Markus bet that the two were hungry. They'd have to wait until they got back to Redwall before filling their bellies. The last thing he wanted was for somebeast to see his jittery actions and figure out what was going on, Markus thought, descending down a set of stairs and headed for the armory room in one of the base halls of the Abbey. It was just one rectangular room amongst the thousands that built the comfortable labyrinth of Redwall. The hare felt like the immensity of the halls and stone were engulfing him.

His paws were shaking as he fumbled with the armory doorknob and snuck in. They weren't any more stable when Markus slipped inside the door and shut it behind him so that only a sliver of light was cast into the room, providing a dim luminance along with the lantern inside that he started to light. The hare didn't realize he was fumbling over and over with the flint before the lantern wick refused to catch fire and he dully looked down at his own trembling fingers. Markus followed through the motions of scraping the flint and lighting the lantern like a slow cub learning how to write. The yellow flame finally sprang up in the dark.

After a quick survey of the long hung lines of bows on the walls and neat arrangements of sheathed daggers and swords underneath them, spears and wooden staves piled in two corners and leaning against the bare wall— the Woodlander Code opposed all violence but defensive, but Redwall had long since gotten itself a defensive armory— Markus took a small dagger, giving an experimental click as he unsheathed an inch before letting the blade drop back in its sheath. More digging through the room and the buzz growing in his head yielded a coil of rope and a lonely role of emergency bandage at the very back of a small shelf. All three items went into his bag.

Markus felt a ting of pain as he thought of Dipper and Lillen locked up in the infirmary. Was Dipper even whole? Had the weasel been bitten? Markus had woken up and gotten the news from Makara before she'd escorted him back to his room, keeping a firm grip on him after his desperate outburst to Ruae. Markus hadn't actually seen Dipper or Krosah yet, but judging from the look which had flashed across Makara's face when he'd mentioned them, it wasn't good.

If he could prevent the same look from passing across her face when Judspike and Milly were mentioned by running off on a crazy rescue mission, then he'd do it, Markus thought. His heart pounded faster and mouth dried up further as he left the armory, putting out the lantern behind him. He left the center comforting halls of the abbey, hare pausing as something hitched in his throat when he abruptly found himself in front of the exit door. How had it appeared so fast in his adrenaline-tinged vision?

Markus's paw drifted up to the knob with every muscle in his arm tingling. He turned it and stepped out onto the grounds, door clicking shut with a menacing finality behind him. Sunlight pooled over his legs and warmed his fur. It didn't remain that way for long.

The furthest gate from everyone would be the easiest to use, Markus thought, setting straight out across the grounds for the northern gate tucked in the shadow of one of Redwall's turrets. The warmth from the lingering sun on his legs was gone. He felt like his whole body was on fire and shouting at all the distant shapes of beasts outside, telling them he was about to leave and lie and do something positively insane. _Stop me,_ Markus felt like his posture was screaming, _I'm leaving you all to go outside and do something crazy. Everybeast, look! SUSPICIOUS! STOP ME!_

The hare's jittering and urge to fiddle with his paws was further accelerated when he caught sight of the few tables set out for the Summer Festival in the distance, their firm brown structures pasted against the rolling green courtyard. There were a few beasts settled around them, a stray otter or two, a few mice and hedgehogs, but it was nothing like the roaring crowd that laughed and sang as the festival arrived and each table was overwhelmed with habits and abbeybeasts. Now the tables were as bare and skeletal as tree limbs before winter stripped the last leaves from them. Those clustered around the ends were almost sluggish in nature, making a halfhearted attempt to eat some of the scones and feast fractions they'd taken from the kitchen. There was no laughter.

It took everything Markus had to keep his posture straight and speed hassle-free for their distant eyes. It took far more to keep it composed when he paused behind one of the trees in the courtyard, setting his bag down. There was no need to give the door sentry more suspicion when he saw Markus, though the hare could feel his face burning at the pinpricks of far-off beasts' gazes on him as he neatly tucked the bag against the trunk. Please don't be watching too close, he internally begged, a nervous and shameful twinge joining his determination.

Even when they disappeared from his vision when he turned a corner, there was still the guard in front of the northern gate he wanted to use. Markus swallowed, his throat raspy as he saw it was Rillford. The young otter leaned against the doorframe, circular blue tattoo draped over his shoulder and visible even from here. From the way his head was angled, he'd seen Markus coming, and watched his approach.

He felt like a fish Rillford was going to eat, Markus thought, feeling his paws shake before he dug them into his habit. The otter's sleek head moved just as intently as a focused adder's. Please, please, Martin, Markus thought, his legs moving mechanically to carry him towards the door with insides shaking, please let me lie well for once. The hare keep his gaze forward and plastered the small default smile of complacency on his face. He ignored the worms of guilt beginning to squirm through his belly at deceiving Rillford and possibly getting him in trouble. This was necessary; he'd apologize just as fiercely as he'd done to Ruae when he got back.

Markus hid behind his smiling mask when he came to a stop before Rillford.

"'ello, Markus," Rillford said, straightening up from his lean against the doorframe. Something seemed to lurk under his usual cheerfulness that gave the otter an air of someone handling glass. Markus didn't miss the expression that flickered through his eyes before it vanished. He was suddenly struggling to keep the dull smile on his face.

Don't rush it, Markus told himself, forcing his inwardly shivering paws to remain still. Whatever you do, just get him to leave, but don't rush it. The hare's crooked ear tilted over. He cut his focus from everything else around them, including the blurry little thing perched on the walltop edge far above them.

"Hey, Mister Rillford," Markus said. His voice came out a faux cheerful without him telling to do it. Keeping up the happy front for responsibility was second nature to him now. It had been so even back at Salamandastron.

The only one to ever call him out on it every time and jerk his papers away from his protesting grasp was Ortho.

Rillford relaxed slightly at his happier disposition. The otter's eyes gave him a quick and obvious one-over in the process before he leaned against the doorframe again. The bolder part of Markus almost wanted to clear his throat and politely tell Rillford that he wasn't that subtle— not with much of anything— and that his Uncle noticed every little glance thrown his way when Rillford was supposed to be ignoring him and pretending his nonexistence. The other part of Markus wriggled in embarrassment at such a terrible thought. He'd feel like Mister Farflit or Missus Ruae for making a comment like that.

"Comin' outside t' eat with everybeast else?" Rillford said, thumbing in the direction of the tables. "I saw a few beasts out there earlier takin' some breakfast." The otter couldn't keep the wistful look off his face at the mention of food, but he swallowed it down and stood up straighter. Markus heard a faint rumble come from his stomach. Rillford's whiskers twitched and the hint of a flush crossed his cheeks. It was gone within seconds when he crossed his arms tightly, military style. "Still, I'm not movin'. Pikesteeth knows what that stoat vermin out there's up t'."

Rillford eyed Markus with new curiosity as another thought struck him. "But speakin' of vermi— er, stoats an' weasels," he amended, swiftly changing his words when he saw the look on Markus's face, "have ye seen Dipper any? Tried t' help him back t' the infirmary last night, but I didn't see much but his bleedin' pelt. Looks like he took a pike t' the face," Rillford said, wincing. His discomfort vanished in seconds as curiosity took over again, otter leaning to look at Markus. "Is he doin' any better? 'O Krosah? Pretty sure Makara got a hold of him, but it wasn't that clear."

"Unfortunately, no, I haven't," Markus said, forcing away the painful jerk in his belly at the mention of Dipper and Krosah. More than one emotion squirmed below with it. He wondered how he was managing to keep his face straight, if he was. "But you can go see him if you like," Markus suggested, looking back at the courtyard he'd left behind. He couldn't look Rillford in the face for this.

Oh Martin, here it comes, Markus thought.

"Skipper Jalik sent me to relieve your shift. He said you were probably wanting some breakfast." Markus cleared his throat, still not looking at Rillford. "They probably want you at the meeting too, Mister Rillford. After all, the holt is going to focus on getting Judspike and Milly back with the Forest Patrol. It'd be better if you knew the plan."

"Really?" Rillford said, perking up and sounding far more eager than before. He licked his lips at the thought of breakfast, eyes already staring past Markus to the tables and far-off confines of the kitchen. "Well, if Skipper's lettin' me off sentry…"

If otters could stare through rock walls, he was doing it, Markus thought. Rillford managed to snap out of his hungry haze long enough to look thankfully at the hare and give him a playful thump on the shoulder as he passed. The friendly gesture put a bad taste inside Markus's mouth.

"I'll make sure somebeast comes back an' changes shifts with ye after the meetin's over. Don't want t' leave ye hangin' here." Rillford shot him a grin, giving Markus one last wave as he walked away. "I owe ye one, Markus!"

It was the other way around, Markus thought, standing by the door and watching him leave. He didn't move until Rillford was out of sight, and even then, waited much longer than he needed to. It felt wrong to have somebeast swallow his lie so thoroughly and quickly— immediately heading off to somewhere based on words that weren't true— even though he'd felt like his face was burning and voice stuttering the whole time. It was having a command over a beast that they didn't know existed.

Markus couldn't bear to stand still any longer, taking off running across the courtyard and slowing only when he came to the exposed area where the others could see him. The hare retrieved his bag from behind the tree he'd placed it under. It took only another strained walk to get him back to the gate, and he was fumbling with the lock with his supplies thrown over his shoulder the instant he could reach it. Everything here just felt wrong.

Lying to somebeast and having them listen without a doubt was power, Markus thought. _Immense_ power. And he had no intention of standing here longer with hints of that power making him feel sick. He pulled back the plank barring the gate. While he couldn't put it back, he'd leave the door locked behind him and set it up against the wall. Hopefully nobeast would notice soon, and the lock would be a good precaution against any of Sonor's wandering group.

Markus was about to head out the door when something dove down from the top of his vision and crashed into him, driving him back. A blitz of feathers filled his eyesight and smothered his face. Grass and the ground slammed up into his back before the shadow was ripped away.

Coughing, the hare pulled himself up his elbows, managing to struggle into a sitting position. His bag was flopped behind him, shoulder strap biting into his skin, and Markus was thankful that he'd buttoned it closed. Bandages and rope would be rolled all over the grass if he hadn't.

"Where you going, hareworm?"

A Sparra stood in front of the door, beady eyes locked onto the fallen hare. His spindly legs stuck out far behind him as the bird went into an avian version of a crouch, brown-capped little head turning here and there with drilling accusation. Add in the chattering and screeching, and Markus was sure he'd have a completely aggressive sparrow coming after him. The Abbess had probably informed them of the news and appointed them sentries, he thought, feeling his belly sink as the Sparra took another hook forward with its head craned. Markus coughed and cleared his throat.

"Hello, Mister— Sparra? Anyway, I needed to go check something outside the abbey, so would you please move?" Markus spoke with enough politeness as possible, slowly struggling up from his sprawled place and getting to his feet. He didn't dare look anywhere else other than the Sparra, and it didn't look away.

"Liar, hareworm," the Sparra said. It punctuated its words with a click of its beak, beady eyes filled with malicious amusement at the look on Markus's face before he caught himself. "Abbessmouse say no one leaving abbey. Why you wanta go?" It cocked its head at the bag, analyzing the bulk it held for any candied-nut-shaped bulges.

Markus was busy untying his tongue when it looked up again, hopping to its other foot and fiercely puffing its feathers up with more impatience. The hare could practically see its disdain for not instantly receiving a smart remark or answer.

"Soft hareworm, my name not 'Mister Sparra' either," the sparrow said. It shifted a little out of its protective pose, and Markus couldn't keep a fugitive glance from the door. He might have a chance, he thought. Maybe.

The sparrow noticed him with a flick of its beady eyes, giving a sour and off-key trill. It flapped its wings once. "Speak or I going to go tella Abbessmouse."

"Wait, wait!" Markus said, lifting his paws in front of the bird. The Sparra smugly lowered its wings and tucked them back against its back. How was it that the Abbess was the only one who escaped a 'worm' label on her name? Markus thought, edging towards the Sparra a few steps. He cleared his throat. "My name is Markus. I'm sorry for not asking for yours. You are…?"

"Warra Beak," the sparrow said. Some of its feathers relaxed. The semicircles of dark grey on its brown wings became clearer. "I know you, soft hareworm Markuuus. You Ortho's nestmate."

"Yes," Markus said, trying to ignore the way the sparrow drew his name out as if it was a lyrical pile of mush, "I suppose you could put it that way." He racked his brain for a moment as rising nerves began tremble his paws. The thoughts in the back of his head pleaded with them, _not now, not now, please not now._ "Ortho's mentioned you a few times."

"Yeah," Warra Beak said, nodding his head. He was still perched in front of the door, and Markus knew he wouldn't be able to do a thing even if he did manage to leap over the sparrow and escape a pecking and clawing out the door. The Forest Patrol would snatch him right up. "I like Ortho. Says what he wanta say." Warra Beak gave Markus a look, trying to egg him on to something the hare hadn't figured out yet. "But you soft hareworm, Markuuus. Why you wanta go outside with all the sickbeasts? Safer in here."

So after lying to a trusting otter, he was being taunted by a Sparra. The day kept getting nicer. Still, Markus heard the hint of curiosity in Warra Beak's voice, and the bird didn't look quite as bent on guarding the door. The hare swallowed his inhibitions and went out on a limb.

"Because there are beasts out there a lot softer than me, and they're in a lot more danger," Markus said. The hare pleadingly raising his paws to the watching Sparra again. He felt opened up and on display, like whenever Ashtip got him into one of those conversations that gave him the sensation of the pine marten skinning his defenses. "And because it's my fault, I have to go get them back."

"You wanta go rescue the eggchicks?" Warra Beak said. The Sparra was perturbed, breaking out of his defensive posture completely and taking an excited hop. He still didn't move from the door. "But you could go let other strong hareworm or otterworm go do it for you. Why sneak 'way from Abbessmouse?" Warra Beak stood on his thin tiptoes, claws pressing into the ground. "Could go ask other wormfriends to let you go get eggchicks with them."

"That'd take too long," Markus said. "They might be hurt already. Besides, I'm not the best help in a full-out fight, and I doubt that's what we're going to do anyway. Better to avoid it."

"Coward."

Warra Beak's insult felt like the Sparra had just pecked him in the ribs. Markus held back a wince, still refusing to blink and back off. Sparrows and hares were quite alike in some ways. It wasn't the first time that'd been thrown his way.

"I know," he said. "But I still need you to move from the door, please. Besides… like I said before, what happened to them was my fault. I was supposed to watch them. I failed." Markus's voice cracked at the last sentence. He stuck it back together. "I'm going to be feeling like a coward the whole time, but cowardice isn't a real excuse to not do something you need to."

"Eggchicks yours?" Warra Beak said. Markus almost gave a laugh at the thought of having cubs at his age, especially Judspike the hedgehog. Some odd union _that_ would've had to be to result in the prickly little dibbun.

"No," he said, thinking of Ruae putting the dibbuns to bed with one look and Judspike's father waving as he helped carry an ale barrel out onto the grounds, "they belong to friends."

Warra Beak looked thoughtful after he spoke, or as thoughtful as one of the Sparra could be. He'd straightened from his aggressive stance to just standing there in the doorway, tail feather tip brushing against the grass. Markus was suddenly aware of just how small he was. King Dunner— at least, according to Ortho— was a plump and talkative monarch whose size would give a few shrews a case of envy, and one who took the same delight in gobbling candied chestnuts as discussing how to attack and peck to death anything that would threaten the Sparra. How he and Redwall stayed close allies was anybeast's guess. It probably had something to do with Friar Tribble's cooking.

"So you going to sneak out to rescue captured eggchicks not yours, letting them go freehome? Outnumbered?" Warra Beak gave a whistle of approval or excitement, something that made Markus's belly soar and ears tingle. "Sounds like Sparra story of Warbeak and swordmouse when they went to get chained cubs from bad foxworm!"

Markus blinked, some of the nervousness and roiling emotions in him stilling. "You mean when Warbeak I went to go aid Matthias I against Slagar and Malkariss's rats to get Mattimeo I back?"

"No Warbeak _I_;_ Warbeak!_" Warra Beak said, trilling the name with relish. Markus was reminded of a group of dibbuns gushing over Martin whenever story time was brought up. Warra Beak was getting puffed up again, but it seemed more so in excitement and some form of hero worship than anger or protectiveness. Then again, she WAS his namesake, Markus thought. "Only one Warbeak helped get eggchicks back and died in big fight, killing ratworms whole way." Warra Beak lifted his head with pride. "Best way to go."

"It's a lovely tale, but I don't plan on dying in the middle of the rescue," Markus said. The hare pulled his satchel strap further up his shoulder from where it had been slipping down. He had no intentions of getting the Sparra worked up about his possible soft hareworm death for a story; Warra Beak was enjoying this comparison far too much already.

Warra Beak eyed him again as if he was a worm preparing to slip back into a hole it had peeped from. "Will be outnumbered and will be alone, Markuuus. Still going to go on rescue?"

"Yes, and whether you move over for me or not," Markus said, settling on his last resort. He had no idea when Rillford would be back or when somebeast would go check on his bedroom, and time was waning.

The sparrow looked over the hare's grim face and set posture, observing everything down to his tilted crooked ear and bleak determination. He wasn't moving, and if he had to deal with a Sparra, then so be it.

Markus's heart was pounding jagged lines in his chest before Warra Beak hopped aside. Startled hope flew through him as the bird gave him a Sparra equivalent of a grin. "Soft hareworm going to do something that make him less soft, huh? I like you better already, Markus."

For once, Warra Beak spoke his name properly instead of enunciating the soft sounds at the end. Markus almost shuddered with relief as he headed for the door, unhindered at last. He stopped as Warra Beak abruptly stepped out in front of him. The hare almost tripped right over the short sparrow.

"But one thing— if you going to go, you gotta take me," Warra Beak said. Markus almost goggled at the determined little creature beneath him, staring up with all the stubbornness of Ortho. No wonder his brother had spoken fondly of him.

"Why?" Markus said.

"Because you not a fighter, and you need one. And who a better fighter than a Sparra?" Warra Beak said. He pressed on when he saw the hesitation on Markus's face. "I named after a legend, Markus, but haven't done anything 'sides deliver scrolls. Don't wanta carry her name and be nothing on own."

Markus could already feel the 'no' setting on his tongue, but when he opened his mouth to say it, it wouldn't come out. A selfish part of him was rejoicing at the thought of somebeast who knew what they were doing coming with him and not leaving him alone in the mission like he'd been alone the countless times he'd driven company away to work on writings. Looking at Warra Beak's round black eyes shivering with life and his little patterned body ready for action drove his decision further.

"You're right," Markus said, reaching for the door as Warra Beak stepped out of the way. "I will need a fighter. You can come."

Dark Forest Gates knows I'll need your courage, Markus thought.

"Ha!" Warra Beak chirped, following Markus out as the hare held the door open for him, Sparra and hare heading into the outside. "Knew harebeast would want fighter with him! We going to go and make new story, Markus!"

The sparrow's enthusiastic words bounced right off him as the hare stepped out onto the dirt path and left the shadow of the door arch. Markus tried to dull the pounding nervousness and terrifying ache in him as he closed the gate, staring at the scarred wood and reinforced metal strips over it, feeling Redwall slipping away with every moment as the crack between the door and the stone frame closed.

The door shut with a locking click as Warra Beak fluttered up into the lower branches of a nearby tree.

Markus took a deep breath before turning his back on Redwall and heading into the woods, Warra Beak following in the branches overhead. The green trees swallowed them as easily as they'd gulped down Sonor Whiteclaw's group. In a few moments, there wasn't a trace left but a distant trill of birdsong here and there.

* * *

Once she was up the staircase and halfway down the hall to the dormitories, Makara finally took the opportunity to inhale a fresh breath of air. The squirrel stretched her arms, feeling achy and cramped even within her habit. Her tail arched as she did so, claws flexing and habit sleeves drooping down her arms. Makara let them slip back down to her wrists as she finished her stretch. The squirrel took a glance at the sunlight pouring in from the high windows regally positioned all over the hall and many times taller than her, they seeming to invite the sky in.

Perhaps the meeting would be less stressed if they had these lurking over them instead of the murky lanterns of Cavern Hole and smaller windows of the dining room, Makara thought, making her way through the glowing dust motes. They swirled around her feet in invisible wind currents before lazily returning to their slow sinking to the ground.

She'd never do a favor for Ortho again, Makara thought, but this was also a favor for everybeast else in the conference who was already stressed enough without his twitching and constant glances towards the door— and to be honest, she was a little worried herself. Krosah was already a wreck; it'd be worse to have the hypersensitive Markus upset too.

After being cooped up in the conference room for too long and grimly discussing the possibilities of a cure and Dipper's condition, along with the potential state of the kidnapped dibbuns, Makara had been all too happy to go check on Markus at the Abbess's orders and Ortho's not-so-subtle begging eyes and staring before he flat out requested it. Abbess Petranka wasn't going to release the champion once she had a firm hold on him for something important for once. Somebeast else would have to go instead.

But knowing Ortho, even Makara was sobered when he openly worried about Markus. He was terrible at most other things that involved brotherhood, but at least he could sense his sibling's feelings, Makara thought, approaching the familiar side door that led to the brothers' shared room. She rapped her knuckles on the wood.

"Markus, are you awake?"

There was no reply. Makara leaned closer and cocked her ears to listen for any sounds. When she heard nothing, she didn't bother to knock again, opening the door and stepping into the room. There was nothing but two abandoned beds with wrinkled sheets and a desk piled high with books, scrolls, and stray feather quills. Everything was sluggish and tranquil underneath the light of the clear window.

Makara frowned, turning to sweep her eyes over the lumpy covers and beds again. There was nothing there, only what seemed to be an explosion of sheets on one bed and almost neat covers pulled up and straightened on the other. It was obvious whose bed belonged to whom— even if the resident Makara was looking for wasn't here.

She glanced at the filled desk before backing out of the room, closing the door behind her. Maybe he went to get breakfast, she thought, beginning to stride down the hall. Markus was still a hare, and breakfast time was long past. She was sure that the midday sun had risen at this point. He had to go make a kitchen visit sooner or later.

Makara headed down the hall.

* * *

Half an hour later, Makara was running back up the hall at full speed, doing her best to keep her footsteps from becoming pounding echoes. She inwardly cursed at her habit and the way it bound up her legs from taking longer strides, wishing for her shorter summer dress. Makara bent in mid-landing and grabbed her robes, pulling them up by the fistfuls and holding them at her sides. With her legs freed, the squirrel took one bounding leap down the hall after another, tail streaking out behind her as she headed for the meeting room.

After a first irritating then frantic search and a questioning of Redwall's stray abbey beasts, it had become clear that Markus wasn't just gone from his bed.

Makara turned another hall corner at maximum speed, her claws scraping and skittering over the rock before she caught herself and flew down the other hall. Her hard breathing sounded louder in her ears when she caught sight of the thick oaken door that led into Cavern Hole and a shortcut to the Dining Room. At the thought of all the assembled beasts behind the door and the Abbess attempting to lead them to calmness, Makara dug her heels into the floor before leaping in place, some excess momentum sending her flying in a sharp arc into the air. The squirrelmaid landed in a crouch on the floor with a thud. Her knees, feet and paws burned from the friction and the slam into the hard stone. She panted as she stood, only a few mere strides away from the closed door.

Crashing into it before jerking it open with her heaving breathing and yelling about Markus going missing would've been far from a good idea, Makara thought, dusting off her chapped and stinging paws.

The squirrelmaid stood away from the door, letting her heaving chest calm from her exertion. She roughly smoothed out her robes before taking a swift breath, realizing that some of her hard breathing and pumping blood wasn't from the running. It didn't take Makara more than a second of thought to decide that she wasn't telling this to Ortho first.

When she was sure she had calmed enough and her appearance wasn't as messy, Makara stood up taller and went for the entrance. She was hearing the echoes of the Abbess's words around the room even as she barely opened the door.

"—and so we must continue to remain organized. Jessy and Lillen are currently taking care of Dipper; instead of being rushed, they must be given help and space for the cure. Until then, we'll deal with Sonor as necessary. Both the Sparra and the Forest Patrol will aid us in assessing the situation before it even begins. Skipper will be glad to help organize sentry duty further for all those who volunteer."

The Abbess paused, looking over the circle of nodding and assembled beasts around her with her aged paws spread over the wooden tabletop. She turned her head towards Makara as the squirrel walked in the room and closed the door behind her, Makara keeping an emotionless face. Ortho sat up straighter in his distant seat when he saw her return.

As more of the crowd's attention went to Skipper Jalik when the otter prepared to speak, Makara ignored Ortho and went over to the Abbess. She could feel the mouse's all-seeing green eyes on her the whole time, but for once, they looked softer and more blind than usual. There was no way the Abbess knew what was coming next, Makara thought, leaning on her chair and putting her muzzle right next to Abbess Petranka's delicate aged ear. Ortho was leaning over the table now and staring at the both of them, a line of tension in his back.

"Abbess, Markus is gone," Makara said.


	13. Chapter 13

For a moment, Abbess Petranka froze. Makara could see her green eyes growing wide with astonishment, mouth leveling in a line of shock, but her expression swiftly disappeared under what Makara knew as her Leader-Abbess-of-Redwall face. She calmly stared ahead as Skipper began to discuss sentry shifts and emphasized the importance of staying armed. Ortho was still craning over the table.

"When did he leave?" the Abbess said, as if discussing runaways from the abbey in a time of crisis was a normal topic.

"I don't know," Makara admitted, unable to pry herself from the Abbess's ear and speak loudly. Paws were going up all over the room as Skipper asked for volunteers for a new sentry arrangement. The squirrelmaid could feel Ortho's stare boring into her from where he stood around the packed table, as obvious as a fire burning in the middle of the room.

The Abbess contemplated her words as if they were a tricky architecture puzzle being asked by the Foremole or a difficulty in scheduling. Makara didn't understand how she could bare to have that endlessly calm and collected expression on her face whenever she was in front of the crowds of Redwallers. It never seemed to snap out of its aura of leadership. The squirrelmaid wandered what emotions were under it. She herself couldn't keep her tongue or emotional lashings under control sometimes, Makara thought. Being in front of a crowd would make things harder.

"Since he ran to Ruae this morning, we know he was here at least after dawn," Abbess Petranka said. Skipper sat down and passed over his speaking role to Jaspin as the squirrel rose to his feet. "Markus is cautious; overtly so sometimes. It would've taken him a few hours to convince himself to do something this radical— meaning he can have only been gone for an hour or two."

Countless things could be done in an hour, Makara thought, forcing herself to take a step back and give the Abbess some space. Scattered yells of agreement followed whatever Jaspin was saying. Makara hadn't heard them. It felt like she and the Abbess were privy to another world than the other beasts, disconnected and floating alone from their concerns. The only one straddling both worlds was Ortho, who looked like he was struggling to listen and watch them intently at the same time. Makara felt her heart sink when she realized they'd have to tell him about Markus.

As Jaspin finished up his speech, expression filling with the same fierce drive before he led the Forest Patrol over a difficult routine, the Abbess pushed back her chair and stood up. She placed her paws on the table to balance herself like she was getting up after a cup of tea. The movements felt too sickeningly calm to Makara. Jaspin paused on his last word before he finished, respectfully inclining his head to the Abbess and sitting. Every Redwaller leaned forward, already expecting a speech or composed reassurance. Makara was still stuck standing behind her.

"Thank you, Skipper Jalik and Jaspin," Abbess Petranka said. "We'll make sure to get the sentries in order and keep the Forest Patrol on watch for Sonor and the dibbuns. However, there is now another matter we must handle," she said. The crowd of Redwallers rustled at her words, a ripple of small disturbance going through. Her calm voice still prevented the head of panic and concern from rising. "As of this morning, Markus the hare slipped past the sentries left the abbey in an effort to rescue the dibbuns himself. He hasn't been gone long. I merely say this not to worry all of you, but to caution our sentries that vigilance is needed to help others from misguided decisions. If Jaspin and a few of the Forest Patrol and Sparra would now leave the abbey to retrieve them, he more than likely won't reach Sonor's camp. Jaspin, if you would, please?"

There was an echoing thud that drowned out all the small gasps and whispers as Ortho slammed his paws on the table and stood straight up.

"_WHAT?_" he roared.

The hare was staring right at Makara and the Abbess, energy and tension already crackling in the air around him, and Makara glared back as she moved to intercept his look towards Abbess Petranka. The Abbess still remained calm, though there was a grim hint to her look now as the crowd began to recede away from Ortho and bumped against each other.

"Ortho, you heard me correctly. Markus made his exit from the abbey earlier, he shouldn't be—"

"You went to check on him; are you bloody sure he wasn't there?" Ortho cut off the Abbess, now focusing on Makara. She twitched where she stood, feeling the frantic intensity and almost desperateness already radiating off him. Skipper was trying to slip through the crowd to get closer to the Champion as more of his composure slipped.

"He wasn't in the room, Ortho," Makara said. The squirrelmaid resisted the urge to back up under his glare and forceful tone, an impulse she would've been angry at if she wasn't surprised at its existence. Something in Ortho was unraveling. It wasn't something she wanted to explore further. "I checked around the rest of the Redwall too," Makara said, speaking as she saw the next question on his lips, "and he was gone. I'm sure of it. Do you think the Abbess or I would say something like that otherwise? We're all not as impulsive as you."

A snappy argument was formulating right in front of hundreds of watching eyes, and Makara was helpless to stop it as her anger started growing at the mere principle of Ortho cutting off the Abbess and using a terrifyingly forceful voice with her. Heat grew in her cheeks at the look Ortho gave her afterwards, but it died just as quickly as something seemed to click in the hare's face. He began to push through the crowd in a direction away from Makara before Skipper arrived in time to grab his arm.

"Ortho, where are you going?" Abbess Petranka said, more steel in her voice than before as she traced the hare's retreat by the disturbances in the crowd. Makara stared as the throng parted before him like bulrushes being shoved through.

"To get Markus," Ortho said. He left no room for argument. "The Forest Patrol an' Sparra can come if they want; I'm leavin' _now_."

There was a thump as one of Skipper's holt managed to work their way in front of Ortho and the hare bumped straight into his chest. Ortho stared up with fierce defiance, refusing to back up from his step in front of the otter, and Makara could see that whatever look he was giving the other beast was almost enough to make him back up. If two other present otters hadn't quickly joined their crewmate's side and surrounded the hare, Makara half thought that he would've just wrenched the otter out of the way. Dark Forest Gates, what had just woken up in their usually worthless Champion? Makara thought, a shudder going down her pelt. The Abbess looked more wary.

"Ortho, you can't just run out to go get Markus. I know you're concerned, but it wouldn't help," she said. "The Sparra and squirrels will have the best chance and speed for heading him off and retrieving him safely. You'd need a weapon if you headed out as well," the Abbess said, giving him a significant look. Makara remembered the ban on carrying the Champion's sword from earlier. "All your presence would do is slow down the recovery."

Ortho was still glaring at all three otters, ignoring her last words. There was a halo of cleared floor around them from where the crowd had backed away to converse in tense whispers or remain in silence, habit-wearing beasts watching the scene with wide eyes and paws nervously cupped over mouths. The determined heat growing around the hare was enough to make even the distanced Makara uncomfortable, though she refused to move from the Abbess's side or look away.

"I can run fast just fine, wot," Ortho said, his jaw beginning to set, "an' we have an armory filled with hundreds of swords that _aren't_ the stinkin' Champion's blade, don't we? This is a bally waste of time; I'm comin' an' we're goin' to get Markus right now. I am NOT sittin' here an' lettin' somebeast else go get my little brother—"

"Sonor's encampment isn't the place for ground-bound beasts, despite how much you wish to be one of those to intercept Markus," the Abbess said, her voice's firmness rising. "It's not possible for you to go."

"The spot of Champion isn't the place for me. Look where I am now," Ortho shot back. "An' you couldn't do anythin' about that either, could you?"

The silence that settled over the crowd after his remark was deathly. Makara could sum up no response to his remark, just as tongue-tied as the other gathered beasts. A feeling of quiet shared guilt and discomfort was joined by some shuffling feet as many Redwallers were suddenly unable to look each other in the eyes. Many of them were quite familiar with tasting those words.

Makara felt a burn of her own flooding her chest and part of her face at the bold expression Ortho had. They all knew Ortho had heard them— some, like Makara, had been blatant about it— but to have their fodder taken seriously one day and flung back against them to let the hare get his way was something none of them had anticipated. This was getting out of paw, Makara thought.

The Abbess apparently agreed, she standing taller and meeting Ortho's gaze from where it had moved from the otters. Without breaking composure, she waved to Jaspin. The squirrel broke his eyes away from Ortho and blinked before standing at attention.

"Jaspin, go summon the Forest Patrol and some of the Sparra to go retrieve Markus," she said. Her calm voice echoed through the room like ice shattering on the floor, green eyes unmoving from Ortho. "Everyone else but Ortho, go to your new posts or rooms. This meeting is dismissed. Please be careful, everyone. Stand together and remain strong."

The three otters in front of Ortho hesitated along with Makara, and with good reason. As soon as the Abbess had barely finished her words, Ortho was off, springing through the crowd that was beginning to pour through the doors and heading right for the exit. The hare easily slipped around any grabbing paws for him, jerked free of any of those that got a purchase on him, and wove through the beasts while ignoring any yelled protests and 'STOPS!' Skipper and Makara had already taken off after him, desperately trying to penetrate the mass of gathered Redwallers, but Makara couldn't leap over the heads of any yelping abbeybeasts who ducked and clutched their heads in concern without the risk of landing on another. Ortho was already almost at the door.

"Ortho Sagebrush, you will _not_ leave this room!"

The unassailable yell of the Abbess lifted over all the other noise, her voice successfully stopping all traffic in the door better than any brick wall. Makara herself almost froze up and flinched in mid-jump at the terrible sound of the Abbess's usually nonexistent ire, and Ortho came to a skidding stop at hearing his full name and the tone it was used in. The hare stood frozen in front of the doors, a nervous group of abbeybeasts looking at him before they began to gradually file out the exit again. Ortho didn't move with his back still to the Abbess. Makara could see his fur on end and every one of his muscles pulled tight with tension.

The squirrelmaid brought herself to a stop as well, panting at the adrenaline and swallowing a gulp as the Abbess moved away from her end of the table and went to stand at the other end closer to Ortho. An equally exerted looking Skipper Jalik walked up to her, nudging her shoulder and making sure she hadn't crashed into anything while chasing the Champion. Out of all the Redwallers in the crowd, they'd been the most responsive to his mad dash. Makara swore the Skipper's tattoos were still wriggling from the force he'd taken off with.

"Ye alright, Makara?" Skipper said.

"Yes, Skipper," Makara said, catching her breath. Two frantic dashes in one day, she thought. There had better not be a third. "I'm fine. You?"

"For the situation goin' on, good enough."

Despite the large crowd gathered, most of the beasts had managed to filter out the door at an astonishing speed. Waves of swishing habits, tails, and bobbing heads at various heights poured out the entrance. All of them flowed around Ortho and his clenched fists and frozen pose like he was a rock statue, leaving a firm ring of space around him. There were a few comforting paws extended to touch his shoulders and a gentle reassurance whispered here and there before the abbeybeast backed away and joined the sea of green robes heading out the door, but not much else. Ortho remained stiff and unresponsive to them as far as Makara could see.

Realizing that she and Skipper were about to be left alone in the vast room with Ortho and the Abbess, Makara and the otter chieftain hurried to join the ebbing edges of the crowd. They approached the door and the motionless Ortho quickly, Makara becoming more on edge as the form of the hare came closer with each of their steps. Her tail prickled and fur stood on end.

As they passed by, Skipper Jalik pausing by the hare before deciding against something and giving his shoulder a soft nudge and heading on, Makara risked taking a look at Ortho. She was expecting to get a temper tantrum or ungrateful comment thrown at her for meeting his eyes, maybe a harsh word or two or a tongue stuck out for daring to let Markus escape, but there was nothing of the sort. Ortho didn't even see her look as she idled next to him. He was looking at the door and all the departing beasts— not quite at them, but at their ability to leave— and his fists were clenched hard enough that Makara was half expecting red to come leaking from where his fingers pressed into his palms.

Makara felt a rare pang of genuine sympathy and sorrow run through her as she glimpsed a torn look of near frantic worry and anger run through his eyes when Skipper went out the door. The closest there had ever been to real pain and concern was on Ortho's face, and it turned the hare into somebeast Makara didn't recognize.

The squirrelmaid had been an only cub. She hadn't known the potency of a sibling bond until she'd visited one of the nearby squirrel tribes and come to Redwall, and it wasn't until recently— when she'd found a dazed and bloodied Krosah shaking and walking aimlessly around the grounds— that she'd been reminded how much pain and terror tore up and down her emotions when someone close to her was hurt.

Against all her judgments she would've made in a normal situation with him, Makara walked over to the hare's side. She paused a foot away as Ortho's ear flicked at the noise. There was a few seconds of silence before his eyes widened at who he saw approaching him. Makara felt an odd sting at the expression of surprise.

"Ortho," she said. There was a pause as she tried to find the right words she wanted. Ortho's eyes had strayed over from the door to look at her. "We're going to bring him back," Makara said, "with or without you. Don't worry."

There was another pause as Makara realized she was one of the few beasts left in the room besides Ortho and the waiting Abbess. When the hare said nothing in return, Makara gave up on hearing an answer. She pulled her belt's tassel straight and headed for the door.

"Makara." The squirrelmaid was stopped with a jolt of surprise as her name was said and a thick calloused paw wrapped around her wrist. She whirled around to look at Ortho, some of her fur bristling in shock at the unwanted contact. He still shamelessly refused to let go and looked at her face.

"What?" Makara said, trying to remain polite.

Ortho looked like himself for a moment, but some of the raw worry and restlessness rose into his eyes again when he glanced at the door. "Find him," he said. "As fast as blinkin' possible."

"Is that a Champion's order, or yours?" Makara said, unable to keep her tongue from slipping and the usual sharp and sardonic tone from pouring out. She was so unused to talking nicely to Ortho that the protective shell of verbal pins and needles emerged without her bidding before she could stop it— because Martin knew that if she started seeing underneath the immaturity and impulsiveness to the rest of him, it might just actually begin to hurt whenever he failed at being Champion or did something to disappoint others.

Ortho wasn't surprised by the tone in her voice. "Whichever one you'll listen to," he said, voice more hoarse than usual. His expression was almost haunting for a fragile moment— which disappeared when he released her wrist, and he was merely Ortho again. Makara pulled her paw back to her side and looked at him one last time before she headed to the door. The Abbess still stood ever patient and waiting by the table.

The last thing Makara glimpsed before she shut the door behind her was Ortho stiffly turning around to face Abbess Petranka.

* * *

Despite the fact that Warra Beak was leading him straight into a den of damage, desperation, and insanity while hopping from one low branch to another, the Sparra still continued to talk the whole time, Markus thought. Vigorously.

"You never been out in woods, Markus?" Warra Beak said. He fluttered over a clump of leaves to perch in another branch and look quizzically down at the other traveler. Markus was still struggling to hide his steps and swallow the beating trepidation in his throat.

"No," he said, "only when Ortho and I were coming here. At home, I patrolled the beach around Salamandastron a few times, but that was it for outside exploring."

Markus was too worn from the previous hours of marching to cringe when a twig snapped underneath his foot, only his eyes filled with tired wonder as he looked at the trees and suffocating layers of bushes and weeds around them and the endless rows of tree trunks. The sun seemed too lazy to shine all of its beams onto the forest floor, wrapping its yellow beams around the sides of trees and rough bark knots and staying there. Dimness and light played together under the high canopy of leaves. It was never-ending, Markus thought, trudging on as delicate as he could. The nervous urge to play with his paws and the dulled ache of wanting to retch with fear had faded into a dull pain in the back of his body.

"Never seen the beach," Warra Beak said. He dipped as wings as he landed down on a branch covered in a tangled vine, his little claws hooking into the surface and balancing his fluffy ball of a body. Markus didn't understand how he could still sound so carefree and talkative as he led them both closer and closer to Sonor and the trapped cubs, a demented route only the Sparra and Forest Patrol were aware of. "Don't know what the 'beach' is," Warra Beak added after a moment. "Place with lotsa worms?"

"No," Markus said. His heart wasn't pounding against his chest as hard before, tongue numbly following the lines of speech and politeness laid out for it. "Mister Warra B—"

"Call me 'Mister' again and I call you 'Hareworm' for rest of time," Warra Beak snapped, spinning around on the next branch he'd hopped on to glare down at Markus. The hare paused at his intensity and leaned back. He kept his paws from rising protectively up in front of himself, ears tilting back with a shamed coyness.

The Sparra had proven he could jolt from one emotion to another as swiftly as he hopped from branch to branch while Markus followed him; it didn't help that the hare's nerves were frayed before he triggered Warra Beak's sharp tongue multiple times along the trip.

"Sorry," Markus said. His words caught in his throat before he straightened them out. "…Warra Beak."

The Sparra gave a twitter of approval, aggressiveness disappearing just as fast as it had come. He continued to lead Markus through the mess of woodland trees and foliage. The hare couldn't help but look at all the spring patches of weeds and unscratched trees and wonder whether he would begin to see them tromped down, stalks crushed and broken with flower buds on the ground, trees trunks covered in blood smears and torn scratches and scars, maybe some not even from the sick beasts because Milly was so soft—

"What the beach like?" Warra Beak said.

Markus felt a tremor go through him as the sparrow's voice cut him into consciousness like a blade, the hare realizing that he'd been quivering with his paws curling up and eyes fixated on the ground. He forced his fingers to pry apart and reached up to give the bag an adjustment it didn't really need. The hare's mouth had flashes of dryness and his skin shivered over him like a too-tight habit, his crooked ear now drooping to the side and refusing to straighten up.

"The beach is a sandy, flat strip of land that goes around Salamandastron and the edge of the land before it turns into sea," Markus said. He spoke without having to think about it. All he did was desperately listen and cling to the words boiling out of his own mouth. "The sea is geographically… well, I don't think you've ever seen a sea, either. It's a river," he said, struggling to put it in a way the Sparra would understand, though the scholarly teaching beat into his head screamed in protest. "It's the widest and saltiest river in the world besides some other seas and it looks like it goes on forever. You can't see the other side or canoe across it."

Warra Beak haughtily puffed up his chest as Markus stepped around a bush. "Betcha bird or Sparra could fly over it."

"Some can," Markus said. "But not many. It's just that _big._ As for the actual beach, it's all sand, though there's some dunes when it joins the forest… big piles of sand that are like mountains. There's not much sand in Mossflower, though, so I don't know if you've seen that before. But it's golden and yellow piles of grains— thousands of them in every inch of land, Warra Beak— and no, there's not many worms," he finished.

Markus realized that Warra Beak was beginning to lead him in a more crooked line than before. They were heading deeper into the forest that hadn't been cut by the abbey residents for wood or trimmed down by activity on the road, and their path couldn't be as straightforward. A soft and natural darkness fell over the shielded ground. Dead leaves and dirt were pressed into a firm terrain that Markus felt underneath his feet and smelled floating in the air, rich and earthy.

This was already a place where the Sparra had warned all other beasts to flee from, he thought. There weren't any more Mossflower denizens outside the abbey or close to it. Markus remembered the almost unattended Summer Festival at Redwall and had to swallow down a ball in his throat; something deep inside him squirmed again.

"Doesn't sound nice," Warra Beak said, making a sound of derisiveness and saving Markus. "If there no candynuts or worms, why live there? Hareworms and badgerworms crazy."

"It can be very pretty," Markus said. He felt defensive at another beast gauging the worth of Salamandastron and his cubhood before they'd even set eyes on it. "Besides, Salamandastron itself is covered in gardens they grow and lots of ledges to climb on. I didn't ever get on the higher ledges, or the see too much of the dunes up close, either," Markus admitted, lowering his eyes to the ground, "but the Sparra would like them. And you can see the dunes quiet clearly from one of the mountain's top windows. It's just as good as climbing on them."

"Why didn't you go out, Markus?" Warra Beak said. "Because you a soft hareworm?" The sparrow had curiously tilted his head from where he'd landed on an outstretched twig, the whole branch bobbing up and down under his weight. A heavier Sparra would've slipped off. Markus was still wondering about how they could let themselves chatter so aimlessly, himself included, when such a dangerous place was getting closer and closer.

Warra Beak's talking reminded him of Ortho, he realized in a detached part of his head as he opened his mouth to speak. As long as the Sparra kept barraging him with questions and blunt remarks, then he could keep talking. And while he was talking, it was harder for Markus to think of what things lurked up ahead or focus on all the shattering and trembling feelings inside him at what he'd done and was doing.

"No, I was busy," Markus said. "I wasn't… well, me being a 'soft hareworm' was part of the reason," he said, face heating up a little at his words and he twiddling his fingers. "But I did want to go out. Martin, I did so _badly._ But I—"

Markus halted, gesturing with a paw. His crooked ear flopped over the side of his face before he tucked it aside. "It's— it's a little more complicated… my parents—" Markus sucked in a breath. The hare lowered his paws, pulled up his satchel strap, and resumed walking again. "My schedule was full and I had assignments to do; they were the priorities. What's Warbeak Loft like, Warra Beak?"

Markus and Warra Beak continued to march into the mouth of the beast. Markus still wasn't sure of how he would disguise himself or free the dibbuns when the time came. That was one thing he hadn't been considering when he fled the abbey, and Markus already had plenty of nervous questions at the back of his head about it. He'd need to find something or resolve his course of action before he and Warra Beak reached the camp.

"Loud. Crowded. Big. Lotsa Sparra and lotsa fights and arguing," Warra Beak, a pleased tenor to his voice. "Nests with eggchicks on one side; the rest for bigger Sparra. Everyone alway flying or talking to King or Queen. My nestmother live right in front of crack in high window. Sun come up in morning and warm feathers when you sleep there. Nestmother always kick other Sparra out who come over for sun, hehe."

"You do a lot of flying and staying in the loft when you're not helping Redwall, don't you?" Markus said. He'd yet to see too many Sparra truly immerse themselves in the lives of the wormground-crawlers below, they only appearing to deliver messages or donate quills before they returned to their high abodes.

There was plenty of communication, Markus thought, and more hearing of Sparra voices than there was seeing actual Sparra. At least, while there were no candied nuts to be eaten or quarrels to be had.

"Do lotsa flying," Warra Beak said. He cocked his head to look at something far off in the woods before moving to another tree again. "Only sleep in the loft. Don't hang around too much up there."

Markus blinked in surprise. "Why not?"

"I like real fights," Warra Beak said simply. "Not pecking and snickering all day just because I smaller. Wastes time when they all say same thing over and over."

A near silence settled between the pair of travelers as Markus had no response, broken only by Warra Beak's chirped instructions or comments now and then. They worked their way into the trees deeper and deeper— the Sparra hopping from limb to limb and pausing to make sure Markus was following his lead, the hare delicately treading around grass and trees— further away from the red sandstone brick that Markus knew was a cradle of safety.

If there hadn't been a noise of snapping twigs and labored breathing, Warra Beak giving a screech of surprise and anger before hunching up on his branch and aggressively leaning forward towards something Markus couldn't see, then the hare would've almost been lured into thinking the trip to Sonor Whiteclaw's camp would be uneventful.

"Sickbeast," Warra Beak said, a vehement hiss in his voice as Markus backpedaled with horror, the hare already feeling his heart slamming into the roof of his mouth and ache of fear trembling through his muscles. "Dirty sickworm, waiting up ahead, not moving. Don't think it can move. Should go killee for being in way and taking eggchicks!"

"STOP!" Markus yelped, voice higher pitched as he barely prevented Warra Beak from swooping down from above on whatever lay ahead. The Sparra paused, looking at him with impatient disdain. He didn't notice how Markus's voice was strangled, hare torn between stopping him and fearing that any loud words would awaken the sickbeast— if it was awake.

"What, hareworm?" he snapped.

"I need a disguise to get into Sonor's camp, and I don't have one yet," Markus said, speaking up when he was sure he was going to say whatever was necessary first. He swallowed and cringed in his disgust at his next words. "If… if the poor beast up ahead isn't moving too much anymore… I might be able to take their clothes."

He had to choose between killing the beast up ahead or ripping away the shreds of dignity and diseased clothes left and wearing them, Markus thought, trying to force down the nausea in his throat as he observed his Sparra companion. What kind of decision was that? The hare quashed down the whine in his heart that whispered, _'should've brought Ortho, should've waited, because look what has to be done now if the thing doesn't get up and kill you.'_

Warra Beak inched up and down his perch with foul and broken notes spilling from his beak, beady eyes alight with hatred and feathers on end like prickling blades. But he didn't attack the beast that lay ahead, whatever it or its state was. Markus could now see the ragged outline of a cloak edge from behind a tree. He forced his suddenly weak and locked up legs to move forward towards it. The tranquil atmosphere of Mossflower drifted around him like a dream.

"Get out dagger," Warra Beak reminded him as he walked forward in a state of half-paralyzation. "Don't wanta get bit."

Swallowing, Markus clumsily unslung the satchel from his shoulder and removed the dagger. He transferred it to his paw and twisted the hilt to hold it the proper way, going through the jerky motions of raising it up to the level the instructors at Salamandastron had specified. He was holding it right, wasn't he? Markus thought, staring at the shred of cloak ahead before glancing at his paw. He was shaking slightly. Warra Beak sat poised above him in a branch as he approached the beast, Sparra ready to fling himself on it at any time.

Markus edged himself around the tree and the sickened beast below, making a wide circle around it and keeping the dagger shoved out forwards like a torch in the night. From the looks of the creature lying underneath the tree when he caught sight of it and the sudden clutch of pure disgust and sorrow that grabbed Markus's innards and jerked, the hare didn't have to worry about it coming after him.

The thing lying beneath the tree had perhaps once been… something, Markus thought. A taste of bile brushed against the back of his mouth as he looked at it. Its cloudy blue eye turned up in the hallowed and sunken-in socket to look at him. The hare felt something silently screaming inside him.

The thing's limbs that were poking out from underneath the hole-riddled cloak were thin and lacerated, fur hanging off here and there in clumps and rotting ropes. Its fur was a splotchy brown with hints of indefinable color poking up wantonly, promising a lighter color buried underneath the filth and smell of death, but Markus didn't know what it could be. Soiled bandages hung off in torn loops that were slowly rotting into the ground like dead mushrooms.

A starved narrow face stared up from the ground with glassy eyes, tongue crumpled at the end of its jaws like it couldn't be pulled in. Its species was still unreadable. It didn't matter. In the end, the uncured group of sickbeasts would all meet this fate, and everybeast was alike in death. Melted bubby webs of froth and blood stained the corners of its mouth and descended to the forest floor to form little puddles. Lines of blood tinged its gums and yellowed teeth that torn lips were showing to the world, and the smell of death and surrender settled heavily on its fallen and stretched out body beneath the tree.

It was still alive, Markus thought, staring in horror at the fallen thing in front of him and the one cloudy eye that had rotated up to look at him. The part of the cloak over its chest had margin shivers of movement underneath. Its body was rotting and it had fallen, completely immobile, and it was still alive. Trapped.

"Killee," Warra Beak hissed. "Killee, killee!" The hatred in the Sparra's voice leaked out like poison. "Wormthing not supposed to be alive; nobeast supposed to look like that when still breathing, killee!"

Markus made no move towards the beast, still numbly staring down at it. When the Sparra lurched forward, he managed to step closer and held up a paw towards Warra Beak.

"No, stop!" Markus said. He took a shuddering breath and prepared himself, trying not to breathe through his nose. "I… I can do this."

Warra Beak eyed him with grim curiosity as Markus slowly went over to the beast. His dagger was still raised, and the hare contained his paws' trembling the best he could. Markus repressed all of his impulses and the churns of fearful revulsion and sorrow, trying to move forth without looking directly at the dying beast before him.

Don't look at its eyes and how it's trying to see, Markus thought, edging forward. Don't look at how it's still breathing underneath the cloak needed for the disguise.

Don't smell all the death and the horrible stench of crying and giving up.

Don't see its skinny skeletal face and try to guess what it could've been and that it could've been a fellow Redwaller in this position.

Don't think of how that dirty and ragged fur and blood is going to feel when touched.

Warra Beak gave an impatient screech, and Markus lunged forward, throwing the dagger to the side as he jerked off the large cloak covering the beast. Shreds of fur flew in the air. Markus's entire vision was filled with the form of a spinning black cloak ridden with holes, and then the hare staggered back, stumbling over his feet and almost falling as there was a tearing of cloth, a hole-riddled black cloak with a torn collar suddenly in his paws.

The beast lying underneath the tree only gave one jerk and shudder, tongue giving a feeble probe at the ground and an arm twitching. Its body was more revolting and ruined underneath its cover than Markus could've ever imagined, and he struggled to fight the bile in his throat at touching the folds of cloth in his paws that had been rubbing all over it. How could that happen to somebeast? No one deserved that. _No one._

He'd have to wear the cloak to disguise himself, Markus thought as stared at the thing with wide eyes, and he almost retched with a trembling body then and there. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to be back at Redwall and arguing with his older brother and Ashtip, concerned with nothing but sitting in his guilt and working on papers, and something like a sob died in his chest. He'd never thought about entering a situation where he might have to _kill_ somebeast, and yet he'd just narrowly avoided it. Another round of inward shaking came on. He couldn't do that. Never.

If Warra Beak hadn't been just as repulsed by the sight of the beast in front of them, he would've been furious with Markus for not killing it.

"Sickbeast not anything anymore," Warra Beak said. It was the closest to a whisper Markus had ever heard a Sparra get to. The bird flapped over to a lower branch and stepped down the length of it with the first hesitation he'd shown during the whole trip, tilting his head to stare at the beast Markus had his eyes scrunched shut not to see. His feathers were puffed up in a feeling far more meek and scared than pride. "What is it, Markus? What _was _ wormbeast?"

"Fox, I suppose," Markus said hollowly, making his eyes open and seeing the torn remains of what had once been a long and fluffy tail hanging behind the beast. Shutting his eyes didn't work; he still saw the beast with them closed. Plucked clumps of fur the and the phantom outline of what had been the tail lingered in the grass, some of the bloody pink stub of the tail showing through the remaining fur.

It was impossible to tell whether it had been a gray fox or a red one— Farflit couldn't be compared to this thing, the hare thought, fighting his churning stomach again. Something dropped inside him when he realized the beast was wearing a filthy and bloodstained skirt underneath a glob of used bandages that hung down from its previously bandaged belly. 'It' was a 'she.' A Missus or Miss that he would never know the name or age of, left to slowly rot and die on the grass, Markus thought. He realized he'd been backing away from the vixen when his back hit a tree trunk, Warra Beak giving a chirp of alarm. The hare could hear his own ragged breathing.

"Warra Beak, let's go," he said. Markus shakily folded the cloak he'd taken and stuffed it in his satchel. Hatred for himself ran through him as he stared down at the holey cloth and wandered why he'd been so stupid as to not get a cloak or disguise while he was still in Redwall. If he'd have done that, then this wouldn't have needed to happen. He wouldn't have needed to hurt or take something from another beast again today— especially a poor someone who had nothing left to take.

Warra Beak stared at him with sharp eyes and an angry chatter of his beak, aggressive puffing his feathers again as Markus picked up his dropped dagger. "What? And leave sickbeast like this? Doesn't belong here anymore; foxworm-thing is part of group that stole eggchicks. You have knife. Killee! Kill—"

"Warra Beak, we're goin' to bloody _GO._"

Markus ground the words out, stuffing the dagger into his satchel and clumsily buttoning it closed with more viciousness than he needed. Warra Beak abruptly went silent at his words. The hare stalked ahead into the trees as fast as he could, not looking and uncaring of whether the Sparra was following him or not. The leaves blurred around him. He could see his paws shaking and felt his crooked ear bent to the point where it was almost in his face. He'd rather have it slammed in the door that almost tore it off over and over again rather than do this, Markus thought.

There was a brief fluttering of wings after Markus had gone into the woods by himself for a few deathly quiet steps, and then Warra Beak was perched in a low limb in front of him again, preening at his shoulders and looking ahead into the haunting and empty forest like he'd been doing so for the past hour.

"Getting close, Markus," Warra Beak said. He put up no pretense of pleasantness, speaking in the same nonchalant tone he'd been using for the previous part of the journey. "Sparra that came back say big scarred tree up ahead mark closer part to stoatworm and sickbeasts."

Markus's eyes widened as he observed the sparrow in front of him, bird looking at him like nothing had changed and waiting for his hare companion to follow— still helping him and _staying,_ even after that— and he suddenly felt it just a little harder to speak. There was an odd block in his throat, his eyes were stinging in the far back, and some of the erratic heaving his chest had been doing calmed.

"Alright," Markus said, finally managing to get something out when he trusted his voice. Neither of them stopped as they spoke, still moving ahead as swift as possible. "I'll think of something to slip us in when we get there."

Neither of them looked back towards the thing beneath the tree or mentioned the filmy blue eyes that had rotated to watch them leave.


	14. Chapter 14

The time had come, and Markus was trying hard not to betray the shaking nervousness bottled up within him. The cloak draped over his ears and brushing against his back felt like another disgusting dry skin that scraped over his fur and whispered of death. The hare had to strangle his nausea at wearing it, forcing down the new memories of the vixen's slowly heaving chest and fading filmy eyes.

He remained crouching behind the tree where Warra Beak had left him. In all honesty, Markus half-wished he was a sparrow so that he could take to the air and follow the little Sparra to his reconnaissance flight over Sonor's camp and not be left here by himself.

Markus felt his paws fumbling together under the cloak again. He made them cling to each other and stop their senseless movements. He was so close; there could be no mistakes here. No mistakes anywhere— ever again. Warra Beak had told him to stay behind after the Sparra had glimpsed a trail of beaten bushes and torn tufts of fear lining the bushes and low branches around their trail. He had known they were entering Sonor's domain, though Markus had figured it out by the grotesque tokens littering the forest, and he'd flown on ahead to see the guards and locate the dibbuns. Markus was left behind to clasp his paws and whisper prayers, nervously twitching his ears and racking his mind.

"_I have a plan, Warra Beak,"_ he'd said to the sparrow earlier, swallowing bile and keeping a neutral face when the cloak's dry hood had been pulled over his ears. It felt like wearing a funeral shroud.

"_You sure, Markus?"_ Warra Beak said, cocking his head in that scrutinizing way of his to study the hare. Those little black eyes could look so piercing and secretive, Markus thought.

Markus had smiled wanly. _"I didn't stay inside learning for all those seasons for nothing."_

Warra Beak had given a chirp of approval, immediately mollified. It hurt Markus to see his suspicion disappear so quickly even if it was for the best. The sparrow flew off into the trees and vanished, a dipping ball of speckled feathers and movement before the leaves hid him. Markus was left with the rotting cloak and the guilt inside telling him that he really didn't have a plan… and he didn't.

This was the second trusting beast he'd lied to today, Markus thought. It was the second time they'd believed him instantly and left. Count his unspoken promise to Ortho to stay in their room and stay safe, and it was the third. The power lies had given him was sickening. He could bypass and brush off anybeast who trusted him, and the pure potential of control behind the lying made Markus sick far down inside himself.

Lying to Warra Beak had hurt more than lying to Rillford, Markus thought, though lying to Rillford had definitely hurt. The hare didn't know Rillford too well, but he was a joyful acquaintance, and the otter had teased him about his crooked ear and pushed a plate of hotroot soup at him before at the table, so there was that. He was a comfortable part of the life at Redwall that was always supposed to be there.

Warra Beak, however, had pulled open a part of him and interactions that usually stayed wrapped up unless he was around Ashtip or Ortho. The Sparra had bluntly questioned him about everything no matter what, forced him to call him by his plain name instead of using 'Mister', and then spent the rest of the time asking questions almost childish and curious about Markus— and expected him to answer every single one of them, no matter how deep they probed. And Warra Beak talked back in return.

Some of it had been insults, and ones that were genuine instead of teasing and made Markus wince, but that somehow made the simple compliments the bird gave him feel even better. Shiny things didn't look as shiny when they were piled up with lots of other things with the same sheen, but when there was some dark thrown in there with the less of them… they seemed to glow brighter.

Markus tried not to think about how Warra Beak's lack of shame reminded him of Ortho.

The hare laced his paws together and tried to think, crouching down below a tree and kneading his knuckles into his face. The torn hood drooped over his head like a shredded piece of night sky. Markus was nervous and alert underneath its surface, but he took a deep breath, trying to drive away all the paranoid thoughts about letting his guard down. He'd told Warra Beak he had a plan, he thought. He was going to make that lie true— all of them and the dibbuns were relying on it.

Markus was only left to plan underneath the tree for a short time. Soon, there was a fluttering of wings, and the hare looked up and clambered to his feet as Warra Beak landed in a low branch, the bird neatly tucking his wings behind him.

"What did you see?" Markus said, flipping the hood off to see the Sparra better. He did so with more speed than necessary. "How were the dibbuns?"

"Everything alla big mess," Warra Beak said, shaking himself to fluff his feathers. He picked a broken twig from behind his shoulder and dropped it to the ground. "Lotsa sickbeasts running everywhere, biting and smacking into trees, killee other beastworms that get close. Only some sickbeasts standing around eggchicks with spears. 'Least, think they're watching eggchicks; they standing around a little tent and guarding. Others just falling and dying like stupids with broken wings," he added derisively.

Markus's heart thumped an extra beat at the mention of the cubs. "So the cubs are protected from the other sickbeasts? And they're being guarded well? Did they look unharm— wait a minute, you said they were in a little tent, didn't you? Could you see them at all?" he said nervously. "What about Sonor Whiteclaw?"

"You squawk more than Sparra eggchick, Markus!" Warra Beak said, clicking his beak. Markus's face burned with leftover shame, but he refused to look away from the Sparra. It helped that Warra Beak had twittered this in almost a fond way. Warra Beak flicked his stiff black-tipped tail. "Yeah, eggchicks safe from other sickbeasts. The ones that still got headbrains stand around them. But there not that many of them. Eggchicks look alright. Saw one for a second when guard lifted up tent flap. They dirty and squawking a little, but no redstuff."

"What about Sonor?" Markus said. He was unable to keep himself from blurting the question out.

"Didn't see the eggchick-stealing wormface," Warra Beak said. "But him in there, somewhere. Gotta be."

The sparrow didn't speak again, and when Markus saw he was looking at him curiously, the hare realized Warra Beak expected him to outline the plan. This was his insane rescue mission, after all, and Warra Beak had pledged to be the warrior— not the planner.

"If the other sickbeasts are as scattered as you say they are," Markus said carefully, trying not to stumble over his words and probing forward into his idea, "then I think I can sneak in without too much trouble. I'll wander around with the… less sane ones… on the outside til I spot the cubs. When I do, I'll get as close to them as I can." Markus paused, feeling trepidation bump his ribs at the thought of stumbling around with the sickbeasts. "That's where I need your help, Warra Beak. The sickbeasts will go after anything that moves. If you can distract a lot of them and make them run to one corner, then some of the guards will have to go see what's happening, and I'll be able to sneak up and speak to the dibbuns. After I do that, then you can just fly out."

"You going to rescue eggchicks then?"

"No. Not right then. I think we'll have to wait til nightfall to get them out of the camp without Sonor seeing something is wrong. I'll just talk to them and get them ready for it, and then if you help me with another distraction again during late evening, I'll be able to slip them out. We'll have to run and hide after that happens, though."

Warra Beak was thoughtful as he considered his distraction, but all traces of reasonable thinking disappeared from his face within seconds. Markus immediately raised paws of protest when the Sparra's feathers spiked aggressively and his little body hunched down.

"Wait, no no no, you can't attack them for a distraction!"

Warra Beak glared at him. "Why not?"

"What if you get _bit_, Warra Beak? Or injured?" Markus said, pleading with his ruffled companion. "It might draw Sonor out as well; he'll KNOW you're one of Redwall and think they're trying to make a distraction— which we are. Please, I don't want you or the dibbuns to get hurt."

The stubborn Sparra considered Markus's words, and the hare was surprised when some of his feathers laid flat again in a few moments. "Kay. I won't attack sickbeasts." The sparrow looked disappointed, but he gave no arguments. "But not 'cause because I scared of getting hurt, but 'cause eggchicks could get hurt instead."

Markus looked at Warra Beak again before he dipped his head, pulling the hood over to shield his face. When he drew the cloak around him he looked more like a black wraith than a hare or young one of any kind. Markus stepped forward and kept his paws from brushing against the dagger in his bag.

"Since that's settled, let's go," he said, a timid and unsure hint in his voice. Markus could feel his belly flipping over in fear. "And Warra Beak— please be careful."

"Heard you first time," Warra Beak said. The sparrow took off and landed in a branch a few trees away, shoving down a sprig of white flowers with his tiny clawed foot. Markus followed him underneath the trees, making his footsteps light as they began their final step of the journey.

He and his fellow escapee had been outside of Redwall for a long time, Markus thought, another anxious pit developing in his belly that had been festering there for a while. There was no doubt that the Forest Patrol and other Sparra were well on their trail now. He hoped that he and Warra Beak could hide among the sickbeasts and their ragged cloaks before nightfall.

As long as the Forest Patrol caught them _after_ they'd gotten the dibbuns, Markus thought, stepping over a bush, then they'd be alright.

The journey to Sonor's camp was more of a trip to a danger zone than an actual camp. There was no solid warning as to where the camp borders were. One minute, and Markus was warily passing by a clawed tree and scattered tufts of stained fur hanging in the bushes and scattered over the disturbed ground, a few flickers of undefined movements and noises at the edge of his hearing that made his skin crawl, and the next, two sick beasts abruptly staggered out of the undergrowth.

Markus held back a high pitched shriek as the one who'd come out of the torn bushes close to him almost knocked right by his shoulder. He held his breath and froze as a pitiful whimper crawled out his throat. Warra Beak had halted in his branch fluttering right up above him, bird standing with his eyes fixed on the sickbeast that lumbered past Markus. The hare was too terrified to be angry.

Oh Martin, these beasts were supposed to be violent, Markus thought as he remained frozen. They'd attack anything that moved or touched them, and one was going _right past him. _When it died it would look like the vixen— destruction and death curling over its sallow skin and sunken in fur over bones— but right now it would tear him to pieces with its jaws and teeth if it decided to. Why was it getting so close to him? Why was it going so slow and not doing anything? Warra Beak could see his shaking, and the Sparra grew enraged and territorial at the sickbeast just getting close to Markus.

The hare could feel the aggression pouring off the Sparra in waves, but he didn't dare look up. Every part of his body was hitching in pure fear and revulsion as the hunched figure slowly lumbered by. The stale smell of death and rot clung to its breath and blistered paws, stained nails looking longer thanks to its fingers rotting and receding from them. He could hear its slow and ragged breathes like a demented tempo set by a maestro no one could see, or like they were following the tapping of Brother John's pointer when he was trying to teach the dibbuns music in the gatehouse. A flayed raw tail with prominent rings flooded with blood slithered behind it.

The other sickbeast— a slender and starved thing with loops of bandage and cloak draped over its shoulders like a shawl, frothy drool speckling its chewed lips, its physique like that of a broken reed— had already passed into the deeper woods. Markus had heard it mumbling meaningless words and garbed syllables under its breath sadly, giving a low sob as it disappeared.

Warra Beak gave a hateful chatter under his breath as the hunched sickbeast gradually made its way past Markus and began to paw at the trees and bushes, seeking for a way out. Markus still couldn't move, paralyzed by his own terror. His throat tightened with another feeling entirely when he saw the simple belt and tassel hanging from the sickbeast's waist that kept what was left of its clothes tied on.

"Warra Beak, _stop_," he whispered, voice almost broken. The Sparra paused in his lean over the branch and glanced over at Markus, postponing his leap onto the sickbeast. He had been ready to leap off and peck its unseen eyes out for daring to come close. He was still considering it, Markus thought, seeing Warra Beak look towards the disappearing back of the sickbeast and narrow his eyes.

"Please," Markus said again, bringing his voice up to wavering louder volume. He felt exposed and scared as the sickbeast's hood twitched, signaling an ear underneath turning to hear a noise. To what was left of Markus's relief, it only paused a moment before finally pawing past the bushes with a crack of limbs and tearing of leaves. Warra Beak's hesitation was enough to let it get away.

The Sparra was more than irritated when he turned back to Markus, pecking at the limb and cursing in his own twittering language in frustration. Markus was glad he couldn't see the expression on his face underneath the hood. The hare could feel his own heart hammering against the cloak.

"Should have killee or taken out eyes," Warra Beak spat, doing a dance of agitation up and down the branch. He was still staring in the direction of the retreating sickbeast, but his angry eyes went back to Markus as the hare mutely began to walk forward.

"YOU." Warra Beak said. Markus could hear anger arching up and down his words, but the bird couldn't find a right thing to chastise him for. "Soft hareworm," he said. "Sickbeast could've bit you, could've bit other beast, and you wanta let him go? Stupid!" Warra Beak knocked his wings against another branch. "Stupid!"

When Markus gave no response, not even a wince, and kept walking, Warra Beak stopped his tirade. He was still angered, feathers puffed and eyes glinting, but there were no more insults. Markus could feel his gaze boring into his back. He kept going. He blocked out the new ideas eating their way through his skull.

"Warra Beak, let's go," Markus eventually said. The Sparra was openly staring at him with disbelief and curiosity now. His voice was hollow and flat. "We have to go rescue the dibbuns. This is wasting time."

"Kay then, hareworm," Warra Beak muttered sourly, though it sounded like he was being cautious about the amount of venom he applied to his voice as he flew ahead. Markus didn't hear it, too busy with his blind moving forward and trying to combat the sudden new horror in his mind.

The journey to the inner part of the camp— or the only place that could be called to consider a camp— was more uneventful. The tension and the new weight Markus seemed to be carrying doubled with every step or wing flap they took, and they did see more sickbeasts, but none of them came as close as the one that had passed before. They were all wrapped up in their worlds of delirium and stained bandages, gnawing on their paws or on anything nearby that disturbed them, froth and blood running together down their various-shaped mouths in sticky rivulets. Beasts of all sizes, species, and walks of life were united under the cloying rule of the disease.

As long as Markus and Warra Beak snuck past them, Markus swallowing down all whimpers and convincing himself that the creatures really couldn't hear his constant gulping and his heart's speedy beating, then they would be alright.

They were almost at the main part of Sonor's camp, the Sparra and hare approaching a thick clump of bushes and briars that shielded them, when Warra Beak noticed a tremble underneath Markus's cloak and that the hare's steps weren't as neat as before. He wasn't running, but there was something not right. After they'd left the first few sickbeasts behind and Markus had gone oddly unresponsive to Warra Beak's teasing, something wrong had followed them out.

Markus's actions and words were off, the hare worrying more than before, but doing it in a disturbing and quiet way underneath his cloak that made the Sparra question whether it was worry or not. Maybe it was something worse. Now that Markus had actually began to show signs of it peeking out at last under stress, it was time to face what it was before they entered the main part of the camp. Warra Beak walked up the length of the long branch to get closer to the walking hare.

"Markus?" he said.

Markus came to a halt.

Warra Beak stared him longer before quietly flying to another branch closer. Markus refused to turn and look at the Sparra behind him, even though he could hear the feathers flapping against the air.

"I was scared," Markus whispered. Warra Beak knew what situation he was talking about.

Annoyance and anger crossed the sparrow's face again, his feathers stiffly puffing up. "That's it? You did all the shaking and stuff walking here 'cause you _scared_?"

"No!" Markus snapped, whirling around to face Warra Beak. His hood flopped back, only half of it covering his face now. He knew he should take a steadying breath, especially when the Sparra recoiled a step because of his hostility, but he couldn't do it. Not after that and the contemplative thoughts that had followed. "I was scared because _that's what could happen to us._ ALL of us. He was from an abbey, Warra Beak," Markus said, feeling some of the fearful pressure start to break free and rise up as the control in his voice did. "That cloak the sickbeast had on? It wasn't a cloak. It was what was left of a habit. That simple tassel belt? It's the default of every abbey out there in Mossflower. If I mess this up an' get somebeast else besides Dipper bitten an' the abbey sick, then the cure doesn't matter, because everyone is goin' to end up just like that sickbeast back there before we can do anything. Ortho, Miss Jessy, Mister Krosah, Miss Makara, Ashtip, Missus Ruae— _everyone._ An' it'll be all my bloody fault."

The images that had been creeping around the corners of his thoughts finally flooded his head. Markus could see the staggering body of the diseased beast again, except instead of the dull brown his habit had been, it had turned into a faded and dirty green. When the beast turned to look at him, he could see their faces peeking out from under the hood instead of its— Ortho, Miss Jessy, Ashtip, Miss Makara, the Abbess, Mister Krosah, Skipper— all of them with those sunken-in, glazed eyes and mouths lined with dripping froth.

Markus's body had begun to reveal the trembling he'd managed to hold back up until now. He couldn't imagine a worse place to break down. Fumbling with his paws, Markus tried to pull the hood up again to have some semblance of control. He couldn't do this; he couldn't break uselessly for the first time he'd realized he held his family's life in his paws.

There was a flap of wings, and Markus gave a yelp of surprise and staggered back as the weight of a Sparra landed on his shoulder. "What—"

His hood had been thrown back, and Markus barely managed to catch his balance from Warra Beak's abrupt touchdown on his shoulder. The sparrow's wings had almost clipped him in the face, but now that he was landed, Markus's whole cheek was pressed against his smooth and stiffer wing feathers and the surprisingly fluffy down on his belly. Markus was too startled by the action to protest, and he stood there with a look of shock on his face, feeling Warra Beak's little talon points dig into his shoulder. Despite looking so sharp they were light and barely pricking him. He could feel the warm thrum of Warra Beak's tiny heart bumping against his face. The feathers of the hunkered down Sparra tickled his ear and made a spot of warmth against him.

To Markus's further shock, a gentle thrum came from Warra Beak's body, reverberating through his whole warm little form. His throat vibrated as a few scattered chirps and lilting whistles came from his beak, weaving together into a song. It was so completely out of nowhere for the situation that Markus gave a weak laugh that had more hysteria in it than humor, but as the seesawing song continued, his shaking stopped and the laugh became genuine.

A few moments later, Warra Beak drew the song to close with a few lingering notes. He still remained perched on Markus's shoulder like it was a comfortable branch. Markus couldn't turn to look at him without pressing his face into the Sparra's feathers. He awkwardly tilted his head instead. Warra Beak looked back at him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"…what was that?" Markus said, unable to say anything else.

"Song nestmother sang to me before," Warra Beak said. He tucked his brown-capped head down to straighten one of his primaries. The feathers on his other wing rubbed against Markus's face more. Markus almost laughed again at the absurdity of being used as a perch by a Sparra to sing a lullaby. "Ready to go?"

"Yes," Markus said. "I am." Warra Beak fluttered off his shoulder and returned to the trees again, leaving Markus was a spot of warmth to remind him where the Sparra had been, the phantom pricks of his claws fading. "And Warra Beak—" Markus said, pausing before pulling his hood up. The Sparra looked back at him.

"Thank you."

Markus pulled his hood up and staggered forward towards the camp in an imitation of the sickbeasts, Warra Beak disappearing into the upper branches with a blur of brown.

When Markus came out from behind the long bush patch, carrying his weaving walk towards the middle of the camp, he was almost unprepared for what he saw. The hare clenched his teeth and wrestled down his fears, keeping his head dipped low and eyes on the ground as much as possible. He could feel a score of eyes pinpointed on him before they drifted away to other things, many of them glazed, but some sharper than others. Don't look at them, Markus thought. Don't make eye contact with them and they won't return it.

The heart of Sonor's camp was located in a natural forest clearing with only a few large trees with gnarled roots in it, the borders composed of springy bushes and whippy saplings. The ground had been trodden raw by all the footsteps over it, and there was a swarm of sickbeasts milling around the edges and drifting through the center.

Even worse for Markus was the fact that though the smell of death and decay hung over them, they didn't look quite as mad as their more afflicted companions. A few of them were exchanging worried whispers and comforts Markus couldn't understand, but he caught a few words that he did. They seemed to exist in nervousness, always flinching away from the more rotten beasts that circled the camp blindly or sniffed at trails like deranged animals.

Further within the camp were scattered bags of food and drink. Some were opened, some were closed, but the majority of them were shredded in pieces. All the food was gone, either within stomachs or smeared stains on the forest floor. The canteens of water or drink lay busted in different places with clods of torn dirt thrown over them and hateful gnaw marks over their shells. Shreds of them lay scattered all over the camp. Markus didn't think a single one of them had been touched other than to destroy it. A waft of soured food and vomit mixed in with the scent of the White Madness.

Within in the very center of the camp were the small group of beasts that carried themselves the tallest and bore the least amount of bandages and scraps of cloaks. All of them carried weapons, ranging from beaten metal spears, longbows, or mended daggers and scratched up swords. They stood over the outer ring of the crowd like those who had convinced themselves they should hold an authority of sorts— but weren't sure if it was there, and for how long. Markus drew in a sharp breath when he saw two of them stationed beside a tiny makeshift lean-to that was built on a tree's roots out of cloaks and branches. The dibbuns were in there.

Nervousness, fear, and determination thudded through Markus to make a dangerous and shaky round of adrenaline pump through his veins. He still kept his head low as he began to walk through the group of the anxious beasts milling around the camp sidelines. The hare resisted the urge to scream or begin kneading his paws together as he felt himself melt into the crowd, now literally less than a foot away from a four or five sickbeasts. His fur stood on end as he tried to tiptoe around them while acting natural.

Markus had never felt so stretched and terrified before. He wasn't sure whether to watch the armed shepherds of the crowd that were standing over the group he was within, or to pay his attention to those around him. They weren't as violent as the sickbeasts outside, but they were still sick, and Markus stifled a jump and gasp as one of them on the edges snapped at another that came too close before they backpedaled away.

Don't touch them, don't touch them, don't touch them, Markus thought, squeezing his paws together with fistfuls of the cloak to keep it gathered around him. The edge of the crowd and the exit is right there. Just a few more steps.

He resisted the urge to run as his eyes flitted from one threat to another. Everybeast here could kill him and he knew it; it didn't matter how nice they were, they were desperate, and desperateness and disease bred hideous actions. Every stretched fiber of Markus's body was on end.

Now I know what Ashtip feels like, Markus thought. A quick burst of relief jumped through him when he saw an open gap of green in the sea of the faded out dark cloaks. The relief disappeared swiftly. Out from there was the open air of the camp's very center— and the beasts closer to sanity and Sonor that guarded his goal. It was now or never.

Markus took a quiet breath to steady himself, gathered his courage, and straightened up and walked out of the exterior group of beasts. He drew his dagger and kept it held with a steady paw, mimicking the way the other sickbeasts in the center were doing so. Markus stared down at the disembodied paw in front of him that was supposed to be his. It wasn't trembling.

Pretend this is one of those social gatherings in Salamandastron, Markus thought, walking towards the inner group. Imagine that they're just a group of important generals or commanders that need to be made a good impression on or talked to. There's no biting or threat of getting bitten.

He could feel them watching. He didn't know if their shifting or turning of heads was hostility or not. Did their madness keep them from keeping track of their other companions? Did they even care as long as the other beast didn't look like they were going to take a bite out of them? And the greatest questions of all— would he be able to do this, and where was Sonor Whiteclaw?

Markus was holding his breath as he crossed over to mill with their little group. An earsplitting screech tore through the trees a moment afterwards with a crashing of limbs and leaves.

The entire right side of the camp lit up with screams of surprise and anger, half the beasts near there jumping backwards and clawing at everything to prevent themselves from touching another's body, and the other half lunging forward with angry snarls and swiping claws. One beast tore a cloak from another, and all Hellgates broke loose between them as they dragged each other into the trees to rend each other's skin and break each other's limbs. Their screaming fight echoed throughout the woods. It set off a chain reaction in the infected beasts further out. More screams— both distant and not, some gurgling on blood or saliva and others hoarse and wavering— filled the woods.

The shier and slightly saner group around the camp corners was drawn out of their recoiling when one battered and tailless vole spotted the thing that had caused the whole ruckus to start with: a grounded and wide-eyed Warra Beak. Markus choked when he saw the sparrow lying limply in the dirt. His beak hung open, his little chest heaving rapidly like his tiny heart was trying to beat itself out onto the dirt. With his stick-thin legs and tail splayed out behind him, he was the very image of helplessness. More than one sickbeast gave an odd hiss or licked their lips while others murmured their pities. They approached forth with weary fascination despite the horrible and noisy brawls already occurring outside.

It's part of the distraction, Markus told himself, fighting the urge to run and scoop the sparrow up. His paw clenched around the dagger hilt to the point where it hurt. As Warra Beak gave a pathetic but loud squawk of pain, cursing in Sparra afterwards, more of the less violent sickbeasts were quickly giving in to the demented instinct the madness had given them. They began to slowly advance on Warra Beak.

Markus forced himself to avoid looking at the thrashing Sparra and the way his wing jutted out crookedly on the ground. When some of the guards began to stir in concern, one of the taller beasts— a spear-bearing mustelid with a deep black cloak and hood hanging over his face and bandages tied around his wrists— moved away from the lean-to to go investigate the situation. Markus saw his thick rudder sweep the ground underneath him. The hare numbly moved forward to take his place before another beast could do so. He found himself standing right in the front of the lean-to… and unable to speak to the cubs hidden directly behind him.

In the right side of the camp, Warra Beak had taken the commotion to an all new level. When all the sickbeasts had moved forward with predatory hunger in their eyes and lunged for him, the sparrow had shot up into the air like he was thrown out of a sling, turning into an explosion of feathers. The beasts had screeched in surprise when their claws came down on nothing, some of the more coherent complaining or wincing, and Warra Beak had landed in the dirt a few feet away with a plop. He immediately began to curse them and continue his helpless flopping in the dirt and pained wing-flapping anew.

All of the beasts observing him at first were now charmed like cats, staring after the Sparra like he was a prize to be devoured or torn apart. Strings of saliva dripped onto the ground as yellowing-shot and chipped fangs of all different sizes were bared in primal snarls. They lunged again.

Markus's heart was in his mouth as Warra Beak flopped away from danger once more, the other sickbeasts stumbling, cracking heads, and giving infuriated snarls at the bird escaping. The guard next to Markus took a step forward in concern as some of the calmer sickbeasts flinched away from those chasing Warra Beak, they tentatively reaching out paws of protest and trying to convince them to stop.

"It's a bird, please leave it alone!"

"The thing's broken-winged already, you don't need t'—"

"Sparrows en't worth chasin', get offa the goddamn thing, Rogburt."

"Just bally s-s-top—"

The final words, given by long-legged beast with half of the thin and gnawed-on ear she had left poking from her hood, dissolved into a gurgling moan of insanity. The other beasts around her backed away as if she'd threatened to gut them all. The air was thick with suspicion and a sudden wariness, even as the female clapped a paw over her mouth and doubled over like she was going to puke before straightening up, she curling and uncurling her fingers. She was too scared to reach her paws out in apology, but wide brown eyes with fear and a glazed tint to them pleadingly looked over the other beasts around her.

Markus was drawn out of watching the terrible scenes in front of him by the movement of the guard and a clunk of metal. He turned his head aside to look at them tap the ground with their spear, taking a step forward. They paused. Markus glimpsed two cunning oval eyes that glowed in the beams of light that made it under the lip of their hood, sharp tufty ears and a bewhiskered face hiding in the darkness. The elegant draw of the cat's features was only marred by the swollen red scars that traveled from the edge of her mouth to her chin.

"I'm going to go sort that out," she said. Her voice was dry and composed. "Will you watch them?" The wildcat jerked her head back at the lean-to even as other guards belligerently moved from their posts to roar at the beasts fighting and beat them back or separate them with their weapons. Warra Beak still had a line of leaping and frenzied beasts behind him as he led them in a jerky dance of can't-catch-me.

The young hare felt like he was being assessed as he nodded his head at the wildcat. Her eyes seemed to take in all they wanted in a fraction of a few slow flicks. "Yes," Markus said, lowering his voice in the reply. "I will."

The wildcat glanced at him a second longer before twirling her spear and heading towards Warra Beak's line. Markus had no choice but to helplessly watch her go, suddenly worried of his Sparra friend having those same searching oval eyes on him while the wildcat had a spear in paw. But he couldn't do anything, Markus thought. At least Warra Beak had led the group further into the forest. He could hide himself if he needed to.

Markus waited until most of the guards were dealing with the screaming sickbeasts out the forest before he bent down with as much nonchalance as he could, reaching for the lean-to's flap. It almost physically hurt him to take things so slow when Judspike and Milly were only a cloak's breadth away, and Markus felt like he was going to start shaking out of pure excitement and delayed agony. But what if the scared dibbuns threw themselves at him? Markus thought suddenly. He jerked his paw away from the flap and forced it back down. Markus cleared his throat. He would have to try something else. If any of the other guards saw the terrified Redwall dibbuns tossing themselves at a sickbeast and hugging him, then he'd either get captured or killed.

Markus took a deep breath and leaned in closer towards the tent flap covering the cub's tiny prison box. He paused when his nose brushed against it, thinking he heard two small sharp intakes within. Sonor had probably had the miniature lean-to made not to keep them trapped under such a flimsy thing, but to hide them from more dangerous eyes, Markus thought. He closed his own as he focused, still trying to look like he was just making a little check in on the hostages.

"If you two can hear me, then don't move," Markus whispered. He could practically feel the two cubs inside the lean-to freezing. "There are still lots of beasts out here watching us. But I promise I'm going to come and rescue you at night. Just hold on a little bit longer."

There was the sound of scuffling inside the tent. Markus strained to make out what was going on through the cloak. He heard a small gasp and then high pitched voices whispering frantically. Then silence.

"…Markus?" said a small voice.

Markus kept back a sad smile behind his hood. He didn't know whether to start choking on relief or the fact that the dibbun sounded so withdrawn and scared. "I'm right here, Milly, but please stay in there."

There was a loud gasp from the tent, and Markus squirmed uncomfortably as a less-than-silent sob came from behind the flap. The lean-to rattled. Markus quickly backed away in case the guards thought he was hurting the cubs.

"Wait, I said to please stay in there and be quiet, I can't get you right now," Markus rambled, trying to get the message across fast but remain silent at the same time. He was left kneeling awkwardly in front of the tent. There was another low sob from the inside that didn't sound like it had come from Milly, who now chanting in a low and squeaky voice, 'they came to get us, they came to get us, they came to get us!'

"M-Markus," Judspike's husky little tone came from behind the lean-to flap. He sniffled heavily after his words. "I wanna— I wanna go home," he whimpered. "I didw't m-mean to follow the ferret o-out, but I was too s-scared, and then I got stuffed in a b-bag and all got all dark and I didw't mean to, I didw't mean to but I started c-crying—"

"Sssh, sssh," Markus said, soothing him. His fur was standing on end at how loud the hedgehog dibbun had gotten. His volume had sounded like the ringing of the Matthias and Methuselah bells right in Markus's ears. "It's okay, Judspike. Don't cry. We know it wasn't your fault. Just be nice and quiet for me and stay with Milly in there until I can come get you out, alright? Then you can tell me everything."

Much of the screaming out in the woods had ceased, the participants in the forest brawls either silencing each other permanently, breaking off the fight, or being split apart by braver guards. Warra Beak was still leading a decent line of distraction nearby, but it wasn't as much as before, since the wildcat guard had managed to snap some of the beasts back to what senses they had left. Markus knew he didn't have much time left.

"I have to go," Markus said, speaking before Judspike or Milly could start crying again. "Don't tell anyone about this talk or try to say my name again, because you might confuse the beasts watching you, and that would be a bad thing for me. The guards right outside this tent won't hurt you as long as you don't hurt them; you're both alright, aren't you?"

Markus held his breath until Milly responded with a whispered "Yes."

"Good," Markus said. He glanced to the side and saw a cloaked figure bearing a spear beginning to split apart from the calmer part of the beasts that were watching Warra Beak's chaos. She'd found the remaining few not worth the effort. "I have to go for right now."

Judspike muttered something under his breath that Markus didn't catch, but the hare pulled away and stood up instead of trying his luck and questioning the dibbun about what it was. He stood at attention outside the tent with his dagger bared like before, glad that the hood hid his face from the approaching wildcat's eyes. The hare almost felt a piece of calm inside him despite everything else. One part of the rescue was done. Just a few more hours, and they'd be out of here and safe in Redwall.

Warra Beak hadn't understood that the need for distraction was over, and the sparrow rolled out of the woods and flopped back into the camp clearing in an attempt to tangle the sickbeasts further. Markus was standing outside the tent, waiting for the Sparra to look up so he could signal him somehow, when the hare noticed a fluid motion on the border of trees. He blinked before he realized it was another armed guard.

Warra Beak was focused only on the beasts in front of him that he was trying to lead astray. He couldn't see the ferret that was drawing back her bow behind a tree that jutted out into the clearing.

Time slowed for Markus in that second. In a moment, he comprehended the ferret pulling back her bowstring and aiming, Warra Beak still obliviously playing the role of the broken-winged bird in the dust, and the look of concentration that flitted through the archer's eyes as she adjusted the arrow. The amount of clearing between her and Markus stretched out like an endless desert.

Markus took off as if he was thrown from a sling, covering the ground between him and the ferret in several rapid bounds. He couldn't stop himself from slamming into her, all his bones jarring and his legs getting tangled with hers as they fell, and the ferret's bow was torn downwards from her grip as she loosed her arrow, sending a slice of hot pain tearing through Markus's whole right leg. Even as the guard snarled in surprise and Markus felt something wet beginning to fill the slice torn on him, he realized that'd he missed spotting the other archer to the further right of her in the woods, the one whose arrow was already drawn back and aim targeting to be true.

"WARRA, FLY!" Markus screamed.

The startled Sparra looked up and took off with sweep of his wings at the alarm, heading straight up into the sky. The archer's white claws flicked as he released the arrow.

There was a thud as a bloody clump of feathers hit the ground.


	15. Chapter 15

"Are you sure this is it? Will… will it work?"

"For the more recently infected, it should. Emphasis on _should. _But I don't know about the severe cases." Lillen pulled away from the mixing pot she and Jessy were leaned over, the shrew standing to look at the slumbering Dipper nearby. "Knowin' whether it'll work or not to start with all depends on him."

"Oh."

Jessy stirred the pot one last time with the ladle, pushing aside the stained pestles nearby. She stared at the dull green pile of powdered herbs in the pot. The mousemaid swallowed as she looked down at it, unsure of whether to cheer or keep her enthusiasm down. It was hard to believe that this pile that had come from hours of reading Sister May's yellowed infirmary notes and her and Lillen's own reading and pouring over measurements. It looked like one of the clover clippings or grass-soups the dibbuns playing 'cook' would make outside.

Lillen bustled over from Jessy to check on Dipper, leaning over the weasel to make sure his bandages and stitches were holding up. A few stains of blood were now smeared on the inside of the cot blanket from where stitches had popped apart and skin decided it was going to tear after all. Lillen had quickly fixed it over her patient's profanities, and now the weasel lay sprawled out crookedly, one of his arms almost hanging over the bed. A glob of stained bandages still stuck to his nose.

"So…" Jessy said slowly, pulling off her glasses and polishing them on her sleeve, "are you saying that even if it does work and fixes Dipper, everybeast outside—"

"Medicine's not a cure-all," Lillen said, leaning over Dipper to examine his nose bandages and make sure none of the visible stitches on his neck were coming loose. "His neck is comin' along just fine… might have to cut up some scar tissue on his nose to allow air passage…" The weasel stiffened abruptly at something, Dipper's face going tense in his sleep and one of his fangs showing. Lillen leaned away with a tut of disapproval and laid a paw on his bedpost. She ignored Jessy staring at her.

"This wallopin' vermin, I swear. He's almost caught me in the face with his claws twice while he's been sedated or sleeping. I'm not sure why in all the blue moons of Mossflower he's built up such a tolerance for them and gets so touchy with his reflexes. If he keeps doin' it, I'm breakin' out the mortar, and we'll see who'll be chuckin' what at who."

Lillen crossed her arms, glaring at Dipper, but Jessy could feel no animosity radiating from her, and the shrew's movements lingered fondly as she rearranged some of his covers and grumbled about his arm hanging over the bedside not being good for his stretched and burned skin with all the jerking around he did. With every move, Jessy felt like she was being excluded from something delicate only the shrew was privy to.

"He's such a pain… I don't think he ever considered takin' care of himself at one point or another… there's enough scars from stupid little wounds I could've handled and stitched in seconds— and ones that look like they happened _after_ he came to Redwall." Lillen muttered, sounding as insulted as an overprotective mother being told off by her cubs. She smoothed Dipper's covers over and glanced at his bandages. Jessy fought the urge to curl up in her chair from exhaustion and everything else bouncing around within her.

"Lillen?" she asked quietly.

"Hmm?"

"If Dipper has such a high tolerance for herbs and medicine, then why are we testing it on him?" Jessy said, putting her glasses back on. "It'd be safer for him and everyone else if there was somebeast else with a normal tolerance. Then we could figure out how much they need and how much we'd need to give Dipper."

Lillen's actions slowed as Jessy glanced over at the empty bed that had been occupied an evening ago, the mousemaid craning her head up. The shrew's tidying up of Dipper was less fluid.

"Jessy, we don't have another option," Lillen said. She still had the same calm voice of an infirmry leader, but the shrew was firmly staring down at Dipper, and not meeting Lilen's eyes.

Something flickered in Jessy's eyes before a small frown appeared on her face. That couldn't be right. "What about that squirrel that was in here with Dipper— Nugg said his name was Benner, didn't he? You said you moved him to an isolated room earlier… he may be in critical condition, but it'd be better to give the herbs to both of them," Jessy said. Perhaps the medicine she and Lillen had made was stronger than Lillen believed it was, and if they could possibly save two beasts, it was all the better.

Lillen was looking over a stained line of stitches on Dipper's chest that suddenly needed lots of inspection.

"He passed on," she said.

Jessy could feel a small lump hiding in the back of her throat before it crawled away. The mousemaid's eyes drifted over the beds in the infirmary, and she had to stop herself from looking for red smudges or not-quite-straightened covers. Stop it, Jessy, she scolded in her head, looking down at the medicine bowl again to distract her eyes. There's not going to be anything there.

"When?" Jessy said. "This morning?" She tried not to think about a poor beast slowly dying from a broken body under the same roof she slept beneath. Looking at the state of Dipper, Farflit, the location of the dibbuns and Markus, and the rough change in Krosah was enough already. Distress fluttered in her stomach.

There was an odd expression on Lillen's face for a moment, and she hesitated, fingers still lingering over the line of Dipper's stitches. The weasel gave a frown in his sleep, squirming uncomfortably at the near touch, and Lillen pulled her paw away before his reflexes could be pressed to retaliate.

"A few hours after we moved him into the infirmary last night," the shrew finally said, still keeping part of her this-is-business tone that had silenced many a panicking beast in the infirmary. Jessy was having trouble seeing what she was actually doing to Dipper with the constant movements of her paws. The distance between her and Lillen was only a few feet of floor, but it was still there.

"I… oh," Jessy said, swallowing afterwards. Her paws found each other under the habit sleeves, and she half wanted to walk over and hug the rigid stress out of Lillen.

Then she comprehended the shrewmaid's words, and something clicked in her head as Jessy looked up and stared at Lillen's back. It felt like was a countdown in the air between them, just ticking away, Jessy thought, and something twisted horribly when she glimpsed part of the white spot around Lillen's eye.

"You said you and Rillford moved him to another room before I came in the morning," Jessy said. Her body felt numb.

Oh Martin, no no, Jessy thought, feeling starting to rush through her body with a sick heated flush as she stared at the shrewmaid's tensed back, she couldn't have; she couldn't have bent the truth about that—

Lillen had glanced back at her face and seen her expression. The shrewmaid stopped all her pretense of rough fussing and looked down, turning her head over her shoulder to look at Jessy. All the mouse could see was the splotched white patch around her eye.

"You don't work well under grief, Jessy," she said. "When you asked about what happened to the squirrel… I had to tell you otherwise."

Jessy stared at her.

"I'm sorry," Lillen said.

Jessy was about to open her mouth and say something when they both heard the yelling and scuffling outside in the hall, coming straight towards them, and the infirmary door shuddered as it was thrown open and Makara and Krosah came through the entrance, both squirrels covered in speckles and smears of blood. A lump of feathers and dripping blood dangled in their arms.

Jessy yelped, jumping up. Lillen immediately dropped all her pretenses and ran over to them, tagging alongside the two squirrels as they hauled the injured Sparra to a nearby bed.

"What happened and how much blood did he lose?" Lillen said sharply, already tying her apron strings tighter and pulling out spools of thread and bandages. A scuffed-looking Krosah looked up after he untangled his arm from the bird's wing.

"Got hit by an arrow and a spear," Krosah said. The squirrel's eyes were wider and dilated with adrenaline, his and Makara's chests still heaving. "We were tracking him and Markus up to the camp, but they beat us there. I'm not sure how much blood he lost… it was pouring out when we were hauling him back through the trees."

Makara was trying to pin the Sparra's now wriggling body to the bed as Lillen shoved Krosah aside, the squirrelmaid's face grim. Jessy gave a squeaky gasp as the Sparra's head turned to show the left side. A crater of splattered blood and feathers pooled where his left eye had once been. A slash of red was beginning to grow across his downy little breast, the juncture of his right wing twisted.

Lillen was already systematically getting out the scissors to sheer feathers off the wound to clean it. She stepped in front of the bed the Sparra was splayed in before Jessy could see the jagged red revealed. Makara turned her head when she heard Jessy gagging, the mousemaid staring at the weakly shaking wingtips of the sparrow.

"Martin have mercy—" Jessy whispered. Her glasses began to tremble on her face of their own accord. Makara exchanged looks with Krosah, who was trying to hold the Sparra down while Lillen set at the task on paw. Puffs of red-dripped feathers began to fly.

"I'm going to get Jessy out of here," Makara said. Krosah looked up from the beast he had pinned to the infirmary cot, a disturbing ferocity disappearing from his eyes. He nodded, moving his paw to hold down the other wing and allowing Makara to step away. The Sparra gave a spluttering, wretched screech of noise as Krosah's fingers brushed over his broken wing.

She was hearing a bird scream, Jessy thought numbly. More discordant bunches of screeches and swears come from the bird's clicking beak, all of them scraping through Jessy's ears like they were thorns being shoved through, a cold and numb denial coming to rest inside the mouse. Jessy felt like pinching her arm for the sheer sake of waking herself, because why in Martin's name would she be hearing _screaming?_

Makara leaped over the corner of the bed and the Sparra's stretched wingtip, her tail swishing up and blocking Lillen from view as bright red— far too bright, Jessy thought, feeling like a cub in her thoughts; blood wasn't supposed to be that bright— began to smudge over her apron side and make the little clumps of feathers being tossed away slick and dark. Makara moved away from Lillen and touched Krosah's shoulder, Jessy feeling startled as she swore Makara's fingers snuck up to brush his cheek, but the gesture was over in seconds. Makara turned and went over to the mousemaid, grabbing her paw and squeezing.

"Come on, Jessy. Let's get out of here to give Lillen some space."

Jessy nodded and swallowed, her wide eyes still on the scene taking place halfway down the infirmary room. "Alright."

Krosah was gripping the Sparra by his broken wing's shoulder, and Lillen's paw was reaching for the other side of it. There was a stirring of blankets behind Makara and Jessy, Dipper's covers beginning to shift, but Jessy didn't care. All she wanted was out of that room and as far away as possible.

Makara gripped her paw harder and pulled her away towards the door. Jessy's sandals clapped against the floor as she hurriedly followed her friend, half being towed, half rushing on her own accord, and the last thing she saw as Makara ushered her out the door was bloody primary feather being tossed onto the floor and Dipper sitting up and drowsily rubbing his eyes as the sparrow gave a discordant scream.

* * *

"Ortho, you can't wait in here."

"You bally watch me. You an' your monocle."

Lillen narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms and staring down the hare two beds across from her. Ortho returned the glare, unmoving as a sack of rocks from the infirmary cot he was sitting on. Between them, a silent and disheveled Warra Beak lay on the one bed separating them, his little body rolled onto its right side to allow both the stained cotton patch over his left eye and broken wing to stick up.

"He's not goin' to be completely conscious and clear-headed when he wakes up, and he lost an eye, for fenpike's sake," Lillen said, leaning further and glaring a little harder. Ortho's ear began to twitch involuntarily under the look that had shamed patients under the covers of their beds. The hare still didn't back off, his paws gripping the blankets harder instead. "I'll come and get you out of your room when he's understandable."

Ortho set his jaw, face giving an unpleasant flinch when his room was mentioned. It normally wasn't just _his _room, but the other occupant was missing, and Lillen wasn't helping with her blinking nurse superiority. He squeezed the blankets under his paws harder. "The Sparra are never understandable, wot, so why leave now? This isn't the first time Warra's broke his wing either; he'll jolly well be talkin' the instant he wakes up."

Lillen gave him another withering glare. Ortho was pretty certain she was trying to skin him with her eyes. View the white spot on her face as a monocle, and she and Sergeant McBloody at Salamandastron had the exact same blasted expression for anybeast who invaded their precious sickroom, Ortho thought.

"You're goin' to aggravate him when he wakes up, and that's the last thing he needs until he gets his bearings," Lillen said. She looked as unmovable as a mountain, and the ferocity in her eyes was the same as when a hawk spotted a plump Sparra to eat. "Ortho, _get out_."

Ortho clenched his fists through the abused blankets and felt his claws pierce into his palms, still staring back, though he found he'd scooted back an inch or two on the cot. It still didn't matter how many bloody faces Lillen made, he thought. The Sergeant had been the same way, and he'd listen to him and Lillen equally well. Which meant his bobtail wasn't leaving the infirmary.

He still managed to get some of smile on his face, teeth showing. "Is it just me, or is the infirmary gettin' crowded, wot? You might want to take a step out an' get some fresh air, Lillen."

Lillen opened her mouth with a dangerous look on her face, looking ready to verbally snap Ortho's head off, but she was cut off by a rough cough and the sound of a creaking bed from the other side of the room.

"If you want him out, you're goin' ta have ta stop talkin' an' crack his skull open," Dipper said. The weasel grimaced as he shifted his knee, palming at the bandage over his nose. "He's not leavin' otherwise."

"You're a jolly ball of sunshine, wot," Ortho said, "just as always, Dipper." He spoke a bit more sharply than usual, not bothering to add the usual cheery wave to the end of his words as he gave Lillen another look and purposely ground himself down further into the covers, something she unfortunately missed since her eyes were on Dipper. He wasn't being moved, and that was final. "But at least you've got the blinkin' idea better than Lillen, weasel."

Dipper shoved himself up on one arm, looking unconcerned except for a brief wince of pain and muttered curse under his breath. "An' you're as loudmouthed as ever, hare."

Lillen furrowed her brows, fingers giving a twitch as the urge to cross her arms or hit something returned. "No pickin' at the stitches, Dipper. I'm watchin' you."

Ortho would have made a comment about how mother Lillen needed to watch after her big lug of a weasel cub, the shrew's near-arms-crossed stance and irritated air along with the white apron making her look just like a displeased harewife with a rowdy leveret, but his lips felt stiff and he let the remark fester and die. Just as Dipper flexed his fingers and looked at some of the burnt speckles over his palm, there was a soft rustling.

The hare immediately sat up straight, ears standing on end. Lillen and Dipper ceased their bantering, both shrewmaid and weasel turning to look at the Sparra in the bed. The weasel stared with sharp eyes at the lump of quietly breathing feathers as if willing it to move with his eyes alone, and Ortho focused on Warra Beak's frail little form and leaned over the bed, unaware that he was doing the same.

There was a deep tense silence for a few moments. The three beasts stared at Warra Beak, frozen in their positions. The sunlight that had been pouring through the infirmary window softly faded as a cloud passed over its rays, going from bright to subdued and back again, and the changing of the light was the only movement in the whole infirmary. It seemed like a bally joke, Ortho thought.

Just as Lillen was slowly beginning to relax her stiffened shoulders, Warra's head twitched and his beak dipped down. His broken and bandaged wing gave a weak jerk, and the wave of pain that went through the sparrow's body at the movement immediately cleared all relaxation. A strangled hissing noise came from his beak as he began to squirm. His little feet clawed at the covers and his awkward position of lying on his side; Sparra never laid themselves out that way unless they'd died or flown straight into a blinking window like Warra had last time, Ortho thought. He clenched his fists and leaned even closer, getting off the bed completely and standing over Warra Beak despite Lillen's sharp order. Ortho didn't hear her.

The hare could feel his heart pounding and energy jerking at all of his limbs like adrenaline in the middle of a brawl as he looked down at Warra's stirring form. His lungs squeezed as he held his breath. The instant the sparrow got up, he was asking him what had happened to Markus, all of Lillen's blasted orders be damned.

"Ortho, back up, he needs space," Lillen said, leaning around the end of the cot to shove Ortho away. The hare stayed rigid under her touch, but he was forced to give in a few steps as Lillen narrowed her eyes and dug her claws into his chest the next time she pushed. Pricks on Ortho's skin burned along with his patience as Lillen turned her gaze on Warra and tried to move in between him and the sparrow, a convenient block in his way.

"What— what going on?" Warra Beak said, dizzily trying to raise his head.

When he saw the beasts around him, Warra Beak suddenly convulsed, his good wing shoving up from the bed with a lurch, keen of pain in his throat his broken one flapped uselessly. Ortho yelped, raising his arms over his face to shield himself against the pinion feathers scraping over his skin. Lillen ignored it Dipper's curse and lunged forward, grabbing Warra Beak to steady him and sit him upright.

"Warra Beak, stop—" she said.

"It dark; it dark and there no light," Warra chattered, his little chest heaving as his feathers puffed out in fear. Ortho saw his remaining beady eye blinking rapidly at the light, pupil contracting with pain.

"Warra, calm your bloody tail, wot," Ortho said. "There's plenty of light."

Dipper grimaced as Warra Beak gave a startled flap of his wings, careening around to face the hare next to him. His remaining eye widened, and Ortho realized the Sparra hadn't been able to see him before.

Of course he blinking wouldn't be able to, Ortho thought, irritated with himself as he stared at the thick bandage patch over the side of Warra's face. It was as if Lilen had passed on her white marking to the Sparra and it had eaten up his eye. Something in Ortho's stomach rolled.

"Markus!" Warra Beak trilled. Surprise stabbed Ortho in the ribs as the Sparra stumbled towards him, a pleased trill growing in his throat. "You alrigh—"

Warra reeled back as fast as he'd stepped forth as his remaining eye adjusted. Suspicion filled his narrowed eye as his blood-speckled feathers puffed aggressively, the sparrow already looking all over the infirmary room around him like he'd never been inside before.

"ARGH!" Warra screeched in frustration as he realized where he was, trying to beat his good wing against the blankets. Lillen moved forward and grabbed him, trying to force it down and keep him from thrashing.

"Warra Beak, stop unless you want a dose of sleeping herbs!" Lillen said, restraining his wing. "You're goin' to make your injuries worse!"

"Warra, what were you sayin' about Markus?" Ortho said, hungrily leaning forward and ignoring Warra's thrashing. He reached out with trembling paws and squeezed Warra's shoulders enough to make him wheeze. "Where is he?"

"Lemme go, Ortho; gotta go help Markus," Warra said, still trying to struggle. His little feet clawed over the blankets. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," Warra Beak cursed, staring everywhere with his one loathing and angry eye. Rage shook his tiny body in Ortho's grip. "Shoulda watched out; shouda paid attention to where sickbeasts were; shouldn't have let Markus do job for me—"

"Warra, _where is he?_" Ortho said, giving the Sparra a shake. Lillen shot him a warning look, but Ortho didn't register it, feeling his insides boiling and roiling within him and fear stabbing like it never had before. Nothing else mattered. Ortho felt his paws start quivering a bit more when Warra didn't bally respond, staring at him.

"Back at sickbeast camp," Warra said. Ortho's heart slammed into his ribs like were a brick wall put there. "I supposed to have been the fighter with him, there to protect and fight off sickworms, but didn't work," Warra said. A heartrending peal of anguish escaped the sparrow's beak as he further clawed at the blankets in frustration. "Instead, I got stupid and let sickbeasts claw up both of us and grab Markus!"

The last time he'd gotten severely hurt, when an angry Captain had driven a spear side into his head during sparring after lots of tripe-talking, Ortho had been lucky enough to go numb under the darkness and his spinning vision before the pain hit. He wasn't so lucky this time, Ortho thought. He released Warra's shoulders to bring his paws down by his side and curl them into shaking fists.

"They'll want to use him as part of the bargain," Lillen said thoughtfully, her eyes distant. She didn't notice how Ortho's ears lurched to pin back before he stopped them.

"Did they put him with the dibbuns?" Ortho said. He was having a hard time focusing.

"No," Warra said, giving a loathing hiss. "He didn't put Markus in there. Think he took him back to his tent first, drooling sickworm."

"He?" Dipper said, but Ortho could see there was a look on the weasel's face like he already knew what the answer was.

Warra Beak gave Ortho an odd look as the hare leaned forward, his confusion showing.

"Yeah, 'he.' Wasn't Sonor's sickbeast that caught him— it was _Sonor_."

Ortho felt something inside him fall and shatter on the floor.

* * *

"BLINKIN' DAMNIT!"

Another pile of aged books crashed off the desk they'd been decaying on for the past hundreds of seasons and crashed on the floor, dust exploding from them and spiraling over the stone as their pages disintegrated.

Chest heaving, Ortho grabbed his fist and bit out more strangled swears through his clenched jaw, digging his claws into his knuckles and shaking with rage between the shelves. Next to him, the books gave one last desperate wheeze and finished collapsing.

"Vulpez bloody blinkin' DAMNIT." Ortho swore again, choking the words out between his teeth with as much shaky malice as he could get into them. His skin over his knuckles began to sting from his claws pressing into them, and the dust coating rubbed all over them like a grainy poultice. A zigzagging row of destroyed book carnage trailed through the shelves behind Ortho, coming to an end at the latest victim with a snapped spine and crumpled pages in front of the hare.

He was prepared to drive his knuckles into another book— any random book, the ones with the thicker the covers the better— to try and pulverize all the anger in him, especially since the Abbess had banned him from the training fields and anything relating to weapons and Ortho's brand of stress relief, but the end of the row had arrived, and Ortho was left staring at a polished wooden desk that looked almost smug in its neatness and dusted off surface, the chair in front of it carefully pushed away.

Ortho drew back his fist again, some of his harder breathing catching in his throat as he distantly thought about how punching the wood would split his knuckles open, but when the neatly arranged desk gave him flashbacks to many such arrangements back and reminded him of someone else, he couldn't do it.

After a straining hesitation, his fist lowering, Ortho settled for swearing loudly again and wrenching the chair out from under the desk and violently sending it skittering across the floor till it rested a few feet away from one shelf. He threw himself into it, back and arms stiff, and Ortho savagely hoped that his toss had scraped up the floor past repair. The Abbess and everyone else wouldn't blinking mind, now would they?

Ortho crossed his arms and gripped onto his elbows with the same force he would while rock-climbing over sharp peaks on Salamandastron. His muscles strained, and the hare's anger and breathing built up again as he glared at the tiny window far above the desk in the rotting, musky and dusty library.

There was no doubt the Abbess and everyone else were running all over the walls outside and preparing what to do next to ensure Markus and the dibbun's freedoms— holding meetings and running back and forth from treetop to walltop, in the case of the squirrels— and each every one of the Forest Patrol were probably so damn casual about it, because they were actually allowed to leave the Abbey.

And as for the Forest Patrol; as for the bally, slinking, worthless damn Forest Patrol and Makara's promise that she would bring him back—

The hare gave another vicious swear and slammed a clenched fist against the bookshelf behind him, making the aged wood moan and give a dismal crack. Dust clouds showered from every shelf.

He hoped he was making the guard outside nervous, Ortho thought, clenching his teeth. He hoped they were thinking he was destroying every dust-sodden shelf and book in here.

Ortho knew he was being followed even before he'd gone into the infirmary to check on Warra Beak, who just couldn't seem to keep from breaking his blinking wings, and the hare had seen the far-back silhouette of an otter when he'd stormed out and made a run for the nearest disused archive room to shut himself and his shaking body in.

It hadn't kept him from cursing and railing at Sonor and his own helplessness at the top of his legs, or from socking every thick book he thought would lend him some physical relief. He'd half been expecting his attentive shadow to come bursting through the door after the first book hit the floor with a giant boom and cloud of dust, but nothing had come from it, and the archive door had stayed shut.

A whole shelf later, and now he was left to sit still boiling with anger and aching as he stared at his own clenched paws and hunched over in the seat his brother had sat so politely in before. A different kind of pain began to creep through him as he studied a thin red cut spreading across his middle knuckle. His father would've yelled at him for not putting on boxing wraps or whatever new safety precaution or politeness the older hare was railing on about.

And Makara… Ortho swallowed, pulling down his harsh angry breathing as it faded and squeezing his eyes shut. He jolly well knew the squirrel loathed him from the tips of her whiskers right down to her fluffy brush tail, but she was no stranger to running with the Forest Patrol, and when she made a promise, she kept it.

Yet the Forest Patrol and their supposed swiftness— one of the very reasons the Abbess had forbidden Ortho to run after Markus himself— hadn't been able to do a damn thing to bring back his little brother before Sonor snatched him away like another dibbun. So much for promises, Ortho thought bitterly, but he could feel something aching inside. The bally squirrel wasn't the only one to break them.

"_I know you're not that fond of listening to what I say or write, but this is important. Your brother— despite how intelligent and poised he may appear when approached— is just barely out of cubhood. He knows plenty about books and all his etiquette lessons, but he's still naïve, and he's not as protected and prepared for the world as he believes he is. I don't believe anything will happen at Redwall, but you never know. Perhaps it's your father's and I's fault for sheltering him so much while he was at Salamandastron… but no matter. Things that have happened already can't be changed._

_Promise me you'll look after him, Ortho. And that you'll both be careful."_

Ortho gave a snort at the memory, rubbing one of his temples before opening his eyes. Trust that bloody letter to be the only one he ever sent off on time and made a promise in— why had he bothered to do either of those things if Fate was going to be a bally rotter and make him regret both? The cut over his knuckle stung, and suddenly, Ortho just wanted to start punching books again when he thought of being forced to send a letter to his mother about Markus being kidnapped. Now THAT would be jolly fun to write.

"_Dear Mother,_

_Everything's going good at Redwall except for the Abbess leaving lots of beasts outside to die of an illness they're not going to cure even though they have the antidote just about finished and the infirmary. Also, they kidnapped Markus and a load of cubs, but we're getting them back after they get a little traumatized. I'd help go rescue my leveret brother, but I CAN'T, since I've been stripped of the title of Abbey warrior and banned from going outside. The scones here are tasty, though, even with all the death everywhere and Markus in danger WHILE I CAN'T DO ANYTHING—"_

"—and isn't that bloody GREAT?" Ortho said, voice verging on a snarl as he clenched his fists again in his lap and stared down at them. His pulled-back ears pressed against his head, and the hare resentfully ground one of his feet into the dust layer on the floor in front of him. The dust stuck to his foot like a cloying sandal.

A quiet rustling came from behind another bookshelf, and Ortho ignored it, still staring at the floor. Maybe Rillford had finally gotten nervous enough to come inside the archive to make sure everything wasn't destroyed; he'd replaced Skipper as Ortho's shadow in lieu of the chieftain's many duties in the crisis and Dipper being more broken-up than a set of Colonel Swifttap's good plates and hung up in the infirmary.

"I didn't trash the blinkin' archives except for the math row; you can leave," Ortho said, not bothering to look up. There was another soft, hesitant footstep, and the hare began to feel annoyed at Rillford's lack of response. A dull and long shadow far too slender to belong to the otter came creeping out into the tiny glow of light the window provided, and Ortho blinked in surprise at the sight of it before he looked up.

A ragged and hesitant Ashtip had crept out from behind a bookshelf, back slightly hunched over as his mismatched eyes glanced at the spaces behind him. The marten's tail looked half stuck between dragging over the floor and gluing itself to the marten's leg, a few clumps of fur on it bristling. Typical dark circles of exhaustion hung under the vermin's eyes, but he seemed even more haggard and frizzled than usual.

"Ashtip," Ortho said, startled as he sat up a little straighter, "what're you doin' here?"

Some of the hare's anger receded as Ashtip licked his lips and glanced from left to right, eyes a brief blur. Of course the marten was in here; he'd probably have been sleeping crammed in a shelf somewhere, Ortho thought. He remembered Ashtip leaning near Markus and his younger brother holding to the marten's arm and burying his face in it like he was the only source of comfort, exposed and childishly trusting. Ortho's bad mood returned immediately.

"Takin' a nap," Ashtip said. He watched Ortho's face as spoke, seeming to look for something. The pine marten fidgeted, and he slowly moved forward, steps almost slinking as he approached Ortho. It hadn't been much of a nap if he looked that tired, Ortho thought. He didn't move as Ashtip came closer.

"…is it true?" Ashtip said, speaking up after several long moments of silence. Ortho raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he said. Ortho heard his own voice come out harsher than usual. He could already feel the question the pine marten wanted to ask, but he'd slam his paw in the window frame before he helped him get there.

"I've just heard a few things about Markus…" Ashtip said. He moved his paws to his side in an almost casual manner. If he were anybeast else, Ortho would swear he was playing with him. His fingers clenched tighter.

"He's gone with the dibbuns," Ortho said bluntly. Anger heated his face. "So all the things you've been hearin' are true, end of bloody story."

Ashtip shrank back a margin in surprise, his eyes looking even larger in his hollowed sockets. "Really? So none of the Forest Patrol squirrels—" He swallowed, and Ortho could see the lump in his throat before it was gone. "I missed hearin' some of the latest meetin' about what happened. Jessy pulled me aside afore it was completely finished."

Ortho relaxed slightly at his words, but he was unable to work all of the rigid tenseness out of his body. "What for?"

"Askin' questions about the White Madness," Ashtip said. He glanced at the dull light coming through the window and the perpetual dust cloud that rained through the air. "Farflit got pulled aside too. We had… an eventful meetin' in the infirmary." Ashtip gave Ortho a sly side look. "It wasn't quite as eventful as the meetin' the Abbess had afore, though."

Ortho's sympathy disappeared as he clenched his jaw at Ashtip's significant glance and the way his voice was suddenly so oily and making lots of insinuations. He wasn't in the mood to be reminded of the dash through the Great Hall that had gotten him a ban now keeping him from heading out and rescuing his brother. Something hard seemed to creep under Ashtip's usually unnerved and paranoid look.

"I bet it wasn't, marten," Ortho said. "There's nothin' _eventful_ about bein' crowded into an infirmary for an hour or two an' talkin' about the snots, wot."

Ashtip gave a tiny nod, his eyes not moving from Ortho's face as he did. It felt so blinking calculated— like the same way that all the higher-ups looked at failing raw recruits in the military— that Ortho could already feel his ire rising and patience drowning. His fingers uncurled themselves and automatically moved to grip the sides of the chair.

"It wasn't, but it 'elped. It had ta have," Ashtip said, breaking his new and infuriating composure for a moment to look like his regular twitchy self. "Which is more than I kin say for some things. I wonder where Markus is…" he said thoughtfully. "It's not bound ta be a big camp, but you never know." Ashtip gave a small frown. It looked intentional. "He never struck me as a beast ta know any stealth 'o creepin' about. How'd he get outta the gate? You'd have thought somebeast would've caught 'im afore he made it completely through the forest."

Ortho was gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were turning white. Ashtip continued like he didn't see him.

"I'm surprised he managed ta make it out of his room door ta where he did. You'd have thought some'un was watchin' him…." Ashtip's eyes lingered cruelly on Ortho longer than they needed to. "Still, that doen't matter. You have ta wonder what his situation is now an' where he is—"

"SHUT UP!" Ortho yelled, standing and shoving his chair away. The wood giving a grind of protest as it was forced over the stone. "I bloody GET IT, alright? I know my bunkin' little brother is out there, bein' stinkin' held hostage, an' I don't need YOU to remind me!" Ortho marched over to Ashtip, fur bristling, the hare forcing himself forwards into the vermin's face even as the pine marten tried to backpedal and stagger away. He bumped against a shelf, books rattling and dust puffing.

"You want to know where Markus is, Ashtip? FINE," Ortho snarled, prodding him in the chest and shoving his face up into the marten's. "I'll blinkin' tell you where he is. My little brother is bein' held hostage after tryin' to do somethin' he thought he could handle, captured by a strong leader of a group we don't know a bloody THING about except that they're lookin' for a cure, an' bein' held ALONE in a hellhole somewhere till they kill him, all thanks to his older brother screwin' up an' not bein' able help him, an' there is NOTHIN' he or anybeast else can do about it!" Ortho yelled into his face.

Ashtip had been curdling and wilting ever since the tirade started, his body beginning to shake and eyes widening halfway through, and by the end, his eyes were glazed and flickering crazily as he sank towards the floor, clawing at his shoulders and beginning to mutter and whimper twisted words and sounds to himself. Ortho stopped and backed away when he realized Ashtip had sunken down shorter than him, pine marten trembling with his back pressed against the bookshelf.

"Ashtip?" Ortho said, faltering as the marten curled up in a ball. Ashtip's claws were sinking into his shoulders and beginning to jerk at his fur, his eyes glazed over as he viewed something only he could see.

"Stop, stop, _stop_; don't take 'er, leave 'er alone! NO, DON'T TOUCH 'ER, DON'T TOUCH ME STOP STOP_ STOP STOP—_"

Ashtip's pleading voice reached a ragged hysteria as he shook back and forth, his fur completely on end as the shaking and spasms reaching a jerking level that never occurred in his usual panic attacks, claws beginning to wildly scrape at his shoulders and the side of his face and leaving thin red furrows behind on his arms. He continued to sob and rattle off to himself as Ortho stood frozen in front of him, hare wavering back and forth as he desperately tried to remember what to do.

He'd never triggered Ashtip before; there had always been somebeast else there when he had one of his fits that knew what to do, like Lillen, Makara, Jessy or Skipper, Ortho thought, standing back in horror as he watched Ashtip tremble; what was he supposed to do? Ashtip hadn't been triggered in three seasons, and now—

"Oi, stop!" Ortho barked, his ears jumping up straight as Ashtip's frenzied clawing began to rip open new spots on his arms and ears while he whimpered and babbled on, words never stopping.

Ortho lunged forward and did the only thing he could, grabbing Ashtip's arms and pulling them away from him. Tufts of fur ripped away and fell all over them, Ortho suddenly entangled a squirming mass of brown fur and hard muscle that writhed against him and crashed all over his belly and legs. Desperation striking him, Ortho did the only thing he could think of, grabbing Ashtip's wrists and yanking them down as he pinned the slender marten's arms by his sides and shoved him further against the bookshelf.

It was the wrong thing to do.

The instant Ashtip felt Ortho pin his arms down by his sides and force him against the wood, he gave a violent tremble, his body straightening out and stiffening up like a board as he ceased most of his struggles and stared at Ortho with glazed wide eyes frozen with absolute fear. The pine marten opened his mouth as a silent scream of pure primeval terror and pain started to build in his throat.

Ortho immediately released his wrists and shoved off the bookshelf to get away from the pine marten, hare stumbling and landing on his rear with his fur on end. Ashtip began to take deep, gulping breathes again, his stomach drawing in so hard as he did so that it looked like he had no innards as he hyperventilated. He shrank down further against the wood, sobbing to himself.

His own heart beating rapidly and every inch of his body on end from what had just happened, Ortho struggled to his knees, fighting past his own fear to try again and do whatever he could to stop the marten now curling in a tight ball and tearing at the back of his bowed head and shoulders again. Feeling dizzy, the hare moved forward and wrapped his arms around Ashtip and hugged him. A pathetic whimper came from under Ortho's arms and the trembling body the hare could feel pressed against his.

"Ashtip, stop," Ortho said, hearing his own voice come out with an odd ring in it. He hugged a little tighter as a quieter sob came from beneath. "I'm bloody sorry, Ashtip, I didn't mean to start this. Just try to blinkin' stop. I'm sorry, wot."

It seemed to be hours later before the champion felt the body curled up and pressed against his chest cease its violent shaking and the pleading died away, leaving only the silence of the dusty archive. Ortho released him, his arms feeling stiff as he got up to his feet. The wilted ball of fur that was Ashtip slowly unwound and sat up, looking as crumpled as a new leaf uncurled in spring. Exhausted, Ortho bent down and offered Ashtip a paw to get up.

"Everything'll straighten out in the end, wot," Ortho said. He couldn't say anything else. "You'll see. The dibbuns an' everybeast else will be back by the time this finishes. When it comes to blockin' villains, there isn't a wall like Redwall."

Ashtip hesitated for a moment. Ortho could see him getting his bearings further as his unclouded eyes studied the room around them. The hare still kept his paw out, leaning forward so that the marten could grab it easier.

Ortho gave a gasp of pain as Ashtip abruptly lunged forward and sank his claws into Ortho's chest, grabbing two pawfuls of fur and jerking down. He twisted his claws into the hare's fur and pulled harder to make sure the other beast was paying attention, Ortho's breaths shorter in pain as he was forced to bend down, the hare's face only an inch away from Ashtip's.

"Get him back," Ashtip said in a low voice, his hazel and brown eyes staring into Ortho's with a fierce clarity and authority that he'd never seen before. "You haven't lost your younger siblin' yet."

Ashtip's face momentarily flooded with pain before he was staring at Ortho again with the same intensity as before. His claws sunk in a little further, and Ortho drew in another short breath, too shocked to grab Ashtip's wrists and wrench free.

"An' if you fail ta save him when he needs you, you will answer ta _me_," Ashtip growled, drawing in close at the last moment. Ortho could almost feel the pine marten's nose grinding against his as they didn't break eye contact.

Ashtip hung on for a few more long and painful moments before the pine marten let go, slumping back to the floor. Ortho stood up and massaged the burning skin on his chest, watching the beast sitting on the ground with wide eyes. When Ashtip scrambled to his feet again, he was no longer the strong and demanding beast that had been gripping Ortho a minute earlier or the wreck that had been shaking under him. Instead, he was back to his regular, paranoid and partially-fragile-looking self, eyes darting left and right before he combed down some of the fur on his arms and backed away from Ortho. Some of his fur was fluffed in nervousness.

"I think I need ta go take a nap," Ashtip said hollowly.

Ortho was snapped back to his senses at the pine marten's words, already seeing him beginning to slip away back through the shelves. He bristled, reaching to block the other beast from leaving.

"Now? You wait just a bally minute first—"

Ashtip ducked back between the bookshelf rows and skittered away before Ortho could grab him, the hare only seeing a few puffs of settling dust when he lunged and stared down the empty row. The mutilated books lay out in a sprawled out trail towards the entrance.


	16. Chapter 16

It was one thing to comfort a group of cubs when there was really nothing wrong, or something wrong so small that it barely mattered, and the cubs were just exaggerating the situation in their head. It was another thing to hold tight to them when everything was more wrong than the cubs even knew and the comforter himself was in worse shape.

"Markus, what're we gonna do?" Milly whispered. Her little face was pale and dirty, eyes puffed and reddened from crying, and Markus did his best to pull her further into his lap. His right leg screamed in distant agony and a quivering Judspike's spines dug even further into his arm and side. The hedgehog had taken to whispering and whimpering things under his breath as a prayer. Markus didn't know what they were.

"Everything is going to be alright, Milly, okay? We're just goin'— going to wait here until the Forest Patrol comes to pick us up," Markus said, trying to put a reassuring sound into his voice— Martin help him, maybe even a _cheerful _sound to his voice— as he spoke to the dibbuns. It seemed worth nothing as the words dissolved into the partial darkness of the small lean-to they were all crammed in. So much for rescue. "Everyone is going to come get us. You just have to wait, alright?"

Milly sniffed and shivered, her wide and teary eyes staring up at him in childish accusation. They seemed almost as wide as Jessy's in the dark. "You said that a-an h-hour ago."

Markus couldn't find his voice at her statement. He stared numbly at her, swallowing down a lump resting in his throat as something tried to jerk inside of him. Judspike stopped trying to look at the hare for comfort and buried his warm little face into Markus's side. Damp drops pressed into his fur. Milly seemed to take his temporary silence for an answer to an unspoken question, she giving a quiet whimper and shudder as she buried her face into her too-long sleeves. Something wet began to trickle down her face in the dim light. Markus felt his insides shudder in horror, the hare desperately reaching out and gathering the two dibbuns in his arms and pulling them closer. He ignored the pain building up in his gut and shooting through his stiffened and stretched-out right leg.

"I said that an hour ago because it's still true, alright? We still have to keep waiting. The Abbess and everyone else are going to come get us, but we just have to give them some time. They're trying." Feeling like he was veering too close to a truth he didn't want to voice, Markus plastered the same cheerful smile on his face he used whenever he was stuck doing a pile of Ortho's work. Complete and utter self-loathing welled up behind his teeth when he saw his smile actually draw Judspike's little gaze up and stifle one of Milly's sniffles.

"Let's tell some stories while we're waiting. All the brave Redwallers told some when the nasty crows and ravens had them trapped in the cellar before they fought back and won. Let's tell a story," Markus said, hearing a wavering shake in his voice as hugged the two dibbuns tighter again and managed to gather them up against his chest in a fragile imitation of how Skipper's thick arms could hold them. Whether the dibbuns had heard something in his tone or not, Judspike gave a small wriggle to try and straighten himself up, and Milly gave one big sniffed before wiping her nose on her sleeve. Markus could feel both of their little hearts pounding against his chest.

It was his fault they weren't rescued, he thought. A mental image of Sonor crossing his arms and looking down at him bleeding on the floor with marked sadness passed through Markus's head.

_'I didn't want to kill your Sparra friend,'_ Sonor had said when they were both in his tent, white claws tightening around the retrieved spear that he'd been holding at Markus's throat. It was covered in slick red blood and a single tuft of feathers. Nausea had pushed again Markus's body as tears swam in his eyes. _'But you and Redwall are limiting my choices.'_

"Once upon a time," Markus said, trying to carve his way through the hoarseness in his voice, "there was an otter. His name was Denya, and he was part of Redwall, one of the sons of the bravest otters there. But when he was very, very little, a large band of bad beasts who wanted Denya for their own uses swept throughout the forest. And they stole the little otter away from his family and took him to their camp."

Judspike or Milly took in a sharp little breath at his words. He couldn't tell who it was in the murky partial darkness. There was the sound of distant echoing screaming out in the camp, followed by the clashing of metal and growling, and Judspike gave a gasp before clinging tighter to Markus and kicking out to squirm his way closer in the hare's lap. His quills scraped against Markus's skin and clothes again, making him hold his breath to keep from yelping in pain. Milly's paws were latched into the foul scrap of cloak hanging from around his neck and his habit. The smell of the dying emaciated vixen still clung inside Markus's nose as the sounds of the distant fighting in the camp died away and he held the dibbuns even tighter. Dark Forest Gates, he should've been worried about whether he was holding them too closely when Milly began to squirm, but Markus felt like nothing was close enough.

"He was scared," Markus said, clearing his throat and continuing when the noise had died down. "Denya was all alone, with no one he knew, in the middle of a camp of strangers," Markus said, trying to curl up his legs behind the dibbuns to form a kind of stronghold for them to rest in, to allow them to pretend the dingy lean-to sides around them didn't exist. "He was also very small."

His left leg cooperated, but his right one gave one jagged twitch and remained stiffened out across the ground, the stained bandages rubbing against the dirt. Markus had to ease his other leg down and swallow the ragged hitch of pain in his breathing before he continued.

"But Denya was brave," Markus whispered.

He was reminded of Warra Beak puffing out his chest and blocking him from leaving Redwall, all pride and confidence, and the final enraged dive the bleeding Sparra had made towards Sonor before the hidden spear caught him in the wing and shattered it.

"And he knew that if he waited long enough for his chance to escape that he could do it."

Sonor had given Markus a sad smile in the tent after they'd captured him, something more like a bearing of teeth with a kind of desperate understanding behind it. He'd raised the spear up over Markus's already injured leg as the hare lay on the floor, completely frozen and unable to move as all his senses shut down. All Markus could register over and over again was that Sonor had a crude and mismatched bracelet around the paw that was holding the back of the spear, something childishly tied together out of random beads with a feather dangling from between two of them, and that the feather fluttered and turned as Sonor had adjusted his grip and raised the spear up.

_'I'm sorry,'_ he'd said._ 'But I can't risk you running away. Not now, when I'm so close to saving them.'_

Markus had screamed after the thud that signaled Sonor driving the spear through his tendon.

"The beasts and the tribe around Denya were not really bad," Markus said, one of his paws reaching up to automatically begin stroking the fur between Milly's ears. He felt Judspike's small nose snuffle into his chest. Something burned in pain at a similarity Markus couldn't place. "But they were desperate and did bad things because of that. And they thought they could make everything right for themselves by taking him from where he belonged, so they gnashed their teeth and hissed at Denya and told him to stay put, that he wasn't going to go free, and that he was going to be theirs and their hero as long as he lived."

_'Bandage him,'_ Sonor had said, putting away the spear as Markus sobbed on the floor and clutched his leg, fingers shaking as blood poured out from between them and pooled on the ground. His own foot had been doing a shaking kind of twitch that Markus had barely been able to see through the tears pouring out of his eyes. Rough paws had grabbed the hare by the shoulder and hauled him up, the closest thing to a clean bandage in the camp being jerked around his leg and tied there through his tears and hiccupping protests. _'Then put him in with the cubs. Make sure all of them are fine before you return.'_

Sonor's eyes had turned towards the tent flaps and seemed to look beyond the horizon through them.

_'I'll be speaking with the Abbess shortly.'_

"But Denya proved them wrong," Markus said. "He grew up to be big and strong, just like the other beasts wanted him to, but he knew they weren't his family and what they were doing wasn't right. One day he stood up to them, and the otter said, 'I won't do this anymore. I'm not yours and I never will be.' And even though he had their tattoos all over him and his face, and had never seen the world outside of where they'd taken him— had never even heard of Redwall— Denya left the tribe and went home."

"Markus?" Judspike said.

"What?" Markus said, looking down at the small face of the cellarhog clinging to him. Judspike looked furtively to the side like he was doing something he shouldn't. Markus felt his fingers dig deeper into his fur.

"Did Denya run away when he was a cub?"

Markus could feel something cold growing in him even as he went to ruffle Judspike's little headquills and patted over his ears the same way he'd seen the hedgehog's father do, trying to put the same amount of energy in it and fumbling. "No, I don't think so," he said.

Judspike paused. There was a silence within the lean-to, Markus's ears brushing the very top of it from where it was too short, and something shifted outside the thin cloth walls as a guard leaned too close or passed by. Distant cries and warbles of pain and insanity made Markus's leg throb, his tendon feeling like fire was spreading up it.

"But… we're not gonna grow up here like Denya or stay here for seasons," Judspike said, his voice small as he looked up. There were cleared trails down his face where tears had cut through the grime. "Awre we?"

Part of everything locked up in Markus since Warra Beak died shivered, and he just wanted to break and hug both of the dibbuns and cry and pretend that doing that was alright and not against responsibility and every bit of decency remaining in him. But he'd lead Warra Beak to his death, Markus thought. What responsibility was there left?

He remembered leaning on Ortho's warm shoulder and going to sleep; he recalled the feeling of pressing his face into Ashtip's wiry arm and holding on tight when the stress was getting to him— or what he'd thought was stress then. Markus almost sniffled or laughed, but he knew he was taking too long to answer Judspike's question, and if he'd failed at everything else, he could at least pretend to be the good older brother like he'd been trying to do for all of his life. Might as well make that lie true too, Markus thought.

"N-no, no, we're not," Markus said. His shaky and still a little high-pitched tone reminded him how far he was from Ortho's lower and steady tone— even if it was cocky the majority of the time— and the lie suddenly seemed harder to go along with. Markus swallowed and kept preening at the dibbuns, determinedly looking at them and not his laid-out leg and the tent flaps to the camp beyond. "The Forest Patrol is going to rescue us long before a season passes. We're close to Redwall. We're luckier than Denya," Markus said. "And you an' Millie are just as bally brave, so we'll do fine."

Part of Milly gave into something, and she wriggled further into Markus's embrace and made him realize his arms were hurting from holding both of the cubs up. He ignored the sensation and tried to straighten himself up again and find his tongue to keep the story going. The activity outside the lean-to was beginning to buzz with excitement from everybeast, including the saner ones, and Markus's fur was prickling at sensing it. Sonor Whiteclaw's words rang in his ears.

"So Deyna set out across Mossflower, wantin'— wanting to find his family and Redwall," Markus said. Milly's paw curled over part of his own. "The journey was long, and there were lots of beasts and things in the way, but the first important one Denya ever met was another mighty warrior who used to be small, a fieldmouse named Nimbalo the Slayer…"

* * *

While every other room within Redwall was packed, the dormitories overflowing with anxious Brothers and Sisters who'd heard of the most recent development and families who were holding their cubs slightly closer, the Gatehouse was practically unoccupied in comparison with only three inhabitants. The door was left unlocked in case any urgent news had to be brought in, but the message was sent clearly to everybeast else: the Abbess was in a council. And she was not to be disturbed.

"Are ye sure there's no other possible way out 'o this?" Skipper said. The otter chieftan leaned against the wall of the Gatehouse, too uneasy to settle himself into one of the small chairs. The Abbess sat at a table with interlaced paws in front of her, facing the otter and the antsy squirrel she'd brought in with her.

"I don't think so. Sonor doesn't strike me as the type to needlessly damage hostages like warlords in the past, but neither will he hesitate to put them to use." Abbess Petranka tapped one of her thin and translucent claws on the table. "He allowed Warra Beak to be collected by the Forest Patrol and brought home, though the sparrow was half-dead. If anything, that's a sign he wants a council and the cure. Now."

"If he wants a cure, why don't we give it to him?" Jaspin said, the Forest Patrol leader's tail lashing and twitching behind him as he paced back and forth in front of the Gatehouse wall. "We'll trade over the antidote Lillen made for the dibbuns and Markus, finish the negotiations, and that'll end everything. Even if Whiteclaw discovers he or any of his friends are too far along for the cure to work on them, he'll have no hostages to threaten us with, and I guarantee the Forest Patrol and Sparra can show them out of Mossflower— especially the Sparra. Warra Beak was hardly an important part of the sparrows, but King Dunner took his injuring as a personal insult."

"If he's that upset, make sure one of your Forest Patrol goes up to warn him that I need all Sparra to hold back on any attacks for now," the Abbess said. "The situation is delicate already… and as much as your suggestion makes sense from one point, what if Sonor doesn't give up all the hostages at once?"

"She's right, matey," Skipper said, grimacing. "We already made the mistake of tellin' 'em that we didn't have a cure on paw, an' I don't think that stoat's goin' t' believe that somethin' we whipped up in a few days is goin' t' work. He'll probably want t' keep somebeast back with 'em once we give them the cure t' make sure it works, an' if it doesn't…"

"…his common sense is too far gone to see it's not our fault," Jaspin finished. He spun on his heel, holding back an old squirrel curse. "Their useful forces aren't many, but the camp will be guarded enough to prevent any rescue attempt. Markus blew all chances of sneaking into the camp sky-high, and Makara and Krosah were only let in to pick up Warra Beak for whatever demented message Whiteclaw wanted to send. I can't send my squirrels in to risk them all getting bitten when the cure may be worthless… no offense to Lillen nor you, Abbess."

"None taken," Abbess Petranka said. She looked towards the Gatehouse windows, watching some of the movements of the sun across the green lawns. Very few abbeybeasts were wandering around outside, and the usually lively grounds were stark and deserted. Soon they would be trampled underneath activity once more as all the Redwallers gathered for the next confrontation with Sonor Whiteclaw. An ache in the Abbess's bones made the old mouse feel a sense of finality. There wouldn't be another meeting after this one. She could feel it.

"Let's just look at we have," Skipper said, raising a webbed paw up and ticking off his points. "Sonor doesn't have any an army 'o anything t' that effect; he's mostly bein' followed by a load 'o desperate beasts he can't control. He hasn't gotten time t' send lookouts out around Redwall besides the ferret an' squirrel that took Judspike an' Milly, an' one of those scouts is pushin' up daisies thanks t' Dipper. Whatever he knows isn't much— an' he has t' come up t' Redwall t' make the deal. Seein' he doesn't trust many beasts 'o have many he can pass the hostages off t' safely while we're arrangin' things, they're bound t' be close t' him an' his liddle guard."

Jaspin caught on, his pacing accelerating, but with a different energy than it had been before. The metal clip earring on his ear glowed in the sunlight and several lit lanterns in the Gatehouse. "Meaning that his actual fighting force that'll be a threat is much smaller than it appears," Jaspin said. "Combine my squirrels and your otters, and they're outnumbered. The sickbeasts around him may prove a danger with their ferocity and disease-carrying, no doubt about that, but…" Jaspin curled his long fingers into a fist and thumped it over his heart. "They have no strategy. And my archers do."

Skipper Jalik made a sound of triumph in the back of his throat, but it was tempered by the weary look on Abbess Petranka's face when the sickbeasts were mentioned. Both otter chieftain and squirrel leader turned their heads to look at their Abbess. Skipper Jalik slowly reached out a beseeching paw, the ink over his shoulders shifting.

"Our trail's startin' t' look clearer, Abbess, but beasts are goin' t' get bit no matter what," Skipper said. His otters in particular would be a target, unable to flee up trees. "Is the cure Lillen put together really…?"

Abbess Petranka met his eyes, her own having a few dark shadows and lines underneath usually not present. She glanced over to see Jaspin halting in his pacing, steps becoming slower and ears on end. The aged mouse looked back to Skipper.

"The antidote Lillen put together should work… in theory. We've taken everything we can from Sister May's notes and our infirmary, but the White Madness has lingered around Mossflower uncured for many seasons, and the antidote is untested. We'll need to wait and see the effects on the beasts treated to make sure it's working, and where the Madness is involved, time is precious. Different herbs outside our Abbey may need to be retrieved to fix the mixture if it isn't." The Abbess bowed her head to meet the Skipper's eyes better, hood drooping around her slender neck and her paws curling over the table and holding tighter as she leaned forward.

"Jalik, if it comes down to that, I can't guarantee you that the herbs are going to be found fast enough," she said quietly. "Nor to you, Jaspin. Or anybeast else."

There was long silence in the Gatehouse. Both motionless squirrel and otter watched their Abbess's unblinking face. Finally, she slowly closed her eyes, settling back into her seat. Jaspin began to move again, but much slower than before, his footsteps soft and un-echoing against the floor. Skipper nodded his head as the Abbess's eyes opened.

"Understood, Abbess."

Jaspin watched her in the middle of one of his pacing steps, his paws clasped behind him. "I'll pass the word along to anybeast wanting to participate in the mission. A rescue still needs to be done, regardless." Jaspin gave a twisted smile, an old scar on the bridge of his nose wriggling. "Lillen will need to have the infirmary open afterwards. Volunteers will be plentiful."

"I'm hopin' yore side won't be foggin' up the infirmary that much after this is over, Jaspin," Skipper Jalik said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the Gatehouse wall almost lazily. "There's still plenty 'o trees t' be runnin' up for yore lot; tis a pity the holt doesn't have rivers nearby t' do the same."

"A pity indeed," Abbess Petranka muttered. Something flickered in her eyes. She sighed, straightening her back up again. "No matter. Anybeast participating in the rescue will be voluntary; make sure to tell anyone who doesn't wish to join that they're free to remain inside."

"With our lot, there's liddle chance 'o anybeast takin' up that offer, Abbess," Skipper said. He grinned. "We're all still hardheaded Redwallers, after all."

"We're going to need that hardheadedness," the Abbess said. She turned to both of them. "Jaspin. Jalik. When Sonor arrives, we need to be ready." Abbess Petranka pulled on the tassels hanging from the edges of her hood, tightening it to cover the thin hollow of her throat. "He's still going to be cautious and protected with his fighting group around him, and we're going to need to lure them out of the crowd of sickbeasts to rescue the dibbuns more safely for everybeast. I'll tell him we're accepting his deal for trading the hostages for a cure to get him out in the open. I need a group of your beasts to go out to meet him, and the remainders of you to hide yourselves around the main gate and the side one next to it. When both sides approach for the swap and trade… spring the ambush and take back the other hostages besides the offered one. The gates will be unlocked. We'll get everyone we can back in as fast as possible."

"Figures," Skipper said dryly. "Usually, we wouldn't be able t' pull that off, but seein' their senses are damaged by the Madness… I'd say we have more than a fair chance."

Jaspin slid into a chair across from her, leaning over the table on his elbows. He watched her intently.

"And Whiteclaw?"

Abbess Petranka paused. For once, her eyes dropped from his, eyelids half-hooding them. Her frail paws squeezed together and part of the Abbess's shoulders slumped, looking far bonier without their holding of pride. Whether it was a sunbeam passing over or otherwise the grey and white streaks in her fur stood out.

"There's no doubt Sonor will be near the front of the exchange, if not at the head. I don't think he'd trust the cure in the paws of anybeast else. In his position, I wouldn't," the Abbess said, trying to give a sad smile. It came out half-hearted and wilted even for what it was. "He… well," she said quietly. Skipper and Jaspin waited for her to speak. Jaspin snaked out his paw a little further and brushed one claw against her habit sleeve for comfort. The Abbess glanced up as she was reminded where she was, but it only took another second for her eyes to drop back to the table and her paws to stop clenching each other as hard as before.

"I don't want this to be a slaughter," the Abbess said. "Redwall has had far too many of those in the past for being an abbey. But Sonor Whiteclaw cannot be allowed to live."

She squeezed her eyes shut but continued to speak, voice just as strong as before.

"He's the only thing keeping the group together. Kill him, and they all fall apart with no hope, without any lingering at Redwall's gates after the hostages are rescued or plotted attempts to take new prisoners from local families. I can only pray that this will make the sickened beasts easier to herd away instead of unleashing an uncontrolled swarm on this part of Mossflower, because if it doesn't, then I—"

"We won't let that happen," Jaspin said firmly. Skipper Jalik moved forward, laying a paw on the Abbess's shoulder as she opened her eyes.

"He's right, lass. Sonor Whiteclaw isn't walkin' out of here, one way 'o another, but we're not lettin' his group run out t' do whatever they please— whatever it takes. Tis a hard call t' make, Petranka… but it has t' be done."

The Abbess gave Skipper a thin smile, reaching up a paw to rest on his own calloused one and gently pulling it away.

"I've been making hard calls all my life, Jalik. One more on my aged conscious will matter less than on yours."

Abbess Petranka rose to her feet and pushed the chair in beneath the table. Jaspin and Skipper Jalik followed her as she headed to the door.

"Sonor is coming," she said. "I'm not sure when, but he's coming today. Skipper, gather all the ground volunteers and organize them into two groups. Jaspin, send an envoy up to the Sparra and tell them to send scouts out to keep an eye open for Sonor's movements; make sure they understand _not _to attack until we need them. Pick out your archers and send some with Skipper's ground group that will greet Sonor for the hostage exchange. You know what to do with the rest."

The Abbess opened the door, not breaking stride as the other two woodlanders behind her immediately went off to do their duties the instant their feet touched the ground. She felt a breeze of air as Jaspin shot by her to head for the nearest stairs up to the walltop where his squirrels were arranged. Skipper's broad-shouldered form could be seen heading straight for the gate sentries, a few otters already flanking him when he reached the edge of the grounds, and by the time Abbess Petranka was losing sight of him when she entered Redwall, there were at least five different beasts gathered around him, one short gray fox included.

Abbess Petranka turned her attention to the stairs in front of her, taking a deep breath as she headed up their spiraling lengths. It was time to speak with Lillen— and one discharged and disgruntled Champion of Redwall.

Seeing the situation, perhaps it was time to have somebeast wield the sword again.


	17. Chapter 17

It was after the hottest part of noon disappeared and the sun dipped down just a fraction lower in the sun, still a searing white ball of heat that made the treetops glow and the walltop hot, that a Sparra sailed over the battlements and came to a fluttering stop in front of two squirrel sentries. It leaned over the edge with its feathers blown back from swift wind.

"They here."

* * *

Skipper and the Abbess were at the front of the gathered beasts on the walltop as they all positioned themselves to look over the edge, four Sparra warriors perched on top of various turrets and parts of the wall nearby. The armed group of abbeybeasts behind the two took deep breaths, trying to steady themselves, and the pure sense of dissonance raked throughout the air. In front of them, Mossflower's trees and green branches lay spread out as green and deceivingly calm as ever. A few of the Forest Patrol archers left up on the walltop instead of joining the envoy group waiting by the gate scanned the trees with sharp eyes, tufted ears perked and claws tensed as they ran them over their bowstrings.

"Do they have the cure and the written ingredient list?" the Abbess spoke up, still trying to watch the clear and motionless path.

"Yes," Skipper said, not looking at her as he spoke. He twisted his empty sling around his paw and clenched it. The otter would need to be on the walltop initially to calm some of Sonor's suspicions before joining his crew and the group heading out to trade with the sickbeasts. The brief separation from his holt before the mission was setting him on edge. "Rillford's holdin' it right now. Everybeast's in place."

"Good," the Abbess said. Another sense of unease and tension swept through the gathered crowd behind her and Skipper as another beast emerged from the distant staircase and walked to the middle of the walltop to join them. Several of the watching Sparra fluttered their wings. Abbess Petranka only turned to look when she heard the softly padding footsteps stop behind her.

"Are you ready, Ortho?"

The hare and now-reinstated Champion of Redwall stood behind her, one paw resting on the hilt of the sword hanging around his waist. The sword belt was worn and scarred from seasons of abuse and warlord battles— as was the sheath— but both remained study and strong, and they were a step up from the way Ortho usually carried the sword. The shining blade remained hidden under the sheath. Ortho didn't look as cheerful as usual, a flat and near grim set to his mouth, and something in the draw of his face made his eyes look slightly tired. All the same, his body was lit up with tense energy, muscles drawn and ready.

"Yes," he said. Skipper glanced at him before turning his attention back to the woods. The Sparra on lookout abruptly silenced their speedy chattering and small salutes towards Ortho and went dead silent, bodies going stiff as weathervanes. Everyone on the walltop seemed to stop breathing.

"Ortho, control yourself, or Markus and the dibbuns will be in trouble," Abbess Petranka said an instant later, folding her paws over each other where they hung in front of her. She stared at the bandaged and cloaked bodies beginning to slink out of the darkened undersides of the trees, some crawling on all fours like they'd forgotten to walk, and armed beasts following behind them in their own cloaks and covers, carefully prodding and pushing them to drive them forth. An entourage was coming.

"I know," Ortho said, a line of strain in his voice as he approached a spot on the walltop next to the Abbess. He stretched out his arms and braced them against it to look down at path below better as it was filled with meandering beasts from Sonor's group, the more damaged being driven away as orders were barked between the sickbeasts bearing weapons.

The hare's fingers gripped around the edge of the walltop stone as some of the more fragile and tentative beasts began to emerge behind the armed ones. Regardless of shape and size they whispered to each other and nervously turned their heads from left to right at every twitch, some of them shaking. One of them fumbled with a string of beads or bracelet around its gnawed paws and dipped its hooded head lower, muttering something. Ortho's knuckles turned a shade lighter with pressure as more of them flooded out and a formation of armed beasts appeared from the trees.

There was a sharp intake of breath from other Redwallers as one cloaked figure in particular emerged into the light, one that was striding with purpose towards the abbey gates with a spear slung over his shoulder. The guards flowed around them as though he were their crux. Ortho ground his teeth together and gripped the stone harder to keep his paw from flying to the sword hilt at his waist, eyes lighting up with near hatred and another feeling roiling within.

"So the root 'o all this trouble finally shows up," Skipper Jalik said, crossing his arms as he watched Sonor Whiteclaw approach at the front of his guard. The otter kept alert and watched the movements of the beasts behind him, searching the crowd for that which had been stolen. Ortho caught on, tearing his eyes from Sonor and desperately looking over the rest of the group.

"Back there," one of the squirrel archers said, her swift and angular-shaped eyes finding the hostages first. The Abbess seemed to sway where she was for a moment before remaining there, keeping her position firm and pursing her lips as Sonor's eyes rested on them. Ortho and Skipper immediately moved over, the hare beating the otter over to the archer. The squirrel pointed at two tightened areas of the guard. Her long ears and oddly bent tail flicked back as Ortho leaned forward over the wall again.

It took a moment for his eyes to find the small spots of unhidden fur, but high up on the walltop, he could see over the heads and draping clothes that would've normally hidden the two tiny forms from sight. Skipper took in a low breath. Tottering between two guards, eyes wide with fear as they looked everywhere and faces grimy and splotched, were Judspike and Milly. From how close they were, Ortho could see they were holding paws, the mousemaid staying as close to the hedgehog as his spikes would allow. But the two dibbuns weren't the only ones holding each other's paws.

The cubs were walking between two guards that carried weapons in one grip and held Judspike's and Milly's paw in the other. One of the guards had a hood draped over their face and slanting down their shoulders in an almost elegant draw, their long cat tail lashing behind them, but the other— a tired-looking ferret— let her hood hang around the base of her neck. Judspike seemed to flinch away from her hold with every step he took, but returned to staring at her the next. Ortho could feel the ferret's hooded eyes roving over the walltop, and near the champion, a stout cellarhog wielding a staff and a mouse couple bearing slings began to get antsy.

But the cubs were the only ones there, Ortho thought. He leaned over the walltop edge again, getting on his toes to see better, but all the hare could spot was more of Sonor's armed guards filing out onto the path and leading Milly and Judspike closer to the abbey. More and more of their ragged bodies and cloaks leaked out of the trees. Sonor Whiteclaw himself was already standing poised in the middle of the path, the more insane beasts were lurking and hissing Hellgates knew where in the woods— no doubt making the hidden squirrels and otters out there bally on edge— and everything was beginning to settle. Yet there was no sight of Markus. Not a stinking one.

Just as Skipper was beginning to give odd looks to Ortho and inched towards him, being mindful of Judspike's and Milly's parents behind him, Ortho saw a blur of brown fur and a two tall ears standing out from the cloaked crowd, one ear straight and the other bent. Ortho drew in a sharp breath.

Unlike the dibbuns, Markus was only escorted by one beast, a formless mass of bandages and an archer hood with a scarf wrapped over their mouth and a saber being held out neatly by their side. Their other arm was held around Markus's back— and not to keep hold of him like a prisoner, but to steady him. Markus had his arm thrown over the other beast's neck and heavily leaned on them. He seemed oblivious as to how he was sinking into their layers of cloak and bandage as he stepped. The younger hare's eyes were staring straight ahead. He looked nowhere else as he and his escort continued their stilted walk, Markus stumbling down their path with a limp more obvious than the sun itself, and every step was a jerky wobble of humiliation and unsteadiness.

Ortho was trembling with rage as he watched his brother's every movement, and only Skipper's thick paw catching his wrist prevented the champion from drawing his sword when he caught sight of the blood-splotched bandage wrapped around Markus's lamed leg.

The Abbess only paid those behind her a glance before she tilted her head to look at Sonor, she as regal as ever. He took the nod as an affirmation for something, and the stoat strode forward out of his guard into the empty path directly before the Abbess. There were whispers of unease among the more fragile of the sane and paws being brought up to shield mouths or tentatively grab others for comfort without the sureness of how welcome the gesture was. More than a few snarls and whimpers floated throughout the crowd before they were silenced. Three of the armed beasts accompanying Sonor made their way to his side a delayed moment later. He dropped the hood from around his face.

"So, Abbess Petranka of Redwall," he said. He lifted a paw, gesturing his white claws at the expanse of the abbey's sandstone walls. "Here we are once more."

"Indeed we are, Sonor Whiteclaw," Abbess Petranka said. She was as composed and calm as she'd been in their first meeting, only a few new lines drawn under her eyes showing any difference, and it would've irritated Ortho if he didn't see Sonor's face briefly contort with anger and pain before his air of civility came back. The hare felt savage joy at seeing the stoat hurt. He hoped it burned him as damn badly as Markus's limp burned him, Ortho thought, or blinking tenfold of that.

"…as much as I'd love to repeat the wonderful greetings and showings of hospitality we received when we first got here, I'm afraid we don't have the time," Sonor said, voice almost soft. There was a rasp in his voice not there previously from their last meeting. Most of the tentative hope and fluttering hesitation and relief from then was gone from his face, slaughtered by something, and the stoat was holding his dignified posture with the previously small sense of crookedness out in the open. Judging by the steely look in his eyes, he knew just why that crookedness was there.

As he kept his shoulders up and tried to maintain an intimidating pose instead of staring at Markus, Ortho felt like looking at the stoat was like looking at all the raw recruits sent outside Salamandastron when they returned from their first serious battle and the sight of death everywhere.

There was a tense silence as Sonor defiantly lifted his head to stare down the Abbess, his swollen ear looking even further split down by the bite mark. The spear he carried with him was slung over his shoulder with the same casualness everybeast in Skipper's crew carried theirs. Some of the sickbeasts lurching around the outside of his small guard made a few demented noises Ortho didn't catch, and Sonor's beasts stayed ramrod straight with their weapons at ready. He and the Abbess stared at each other for a long time. One of the dibbuns in the back sniffled. Abbess Petranka broke and looked away.

"We know what you're here for, Sonor," she said. "We are more than willing to trade for the hostages."

Sonor raised an eyebrow, but it wasn't enough to cover the flit of hope across his face. "Willing to trade what? Food and escort, the same as before?"

"No," Abbess Petranka said. "A cure."

There were low gasps of excitement and ruffles of movement from throughout the crowd, but there was none of the frantic cheering and sobbing thanks that come from the false alert of the first meeting. Ortho saw two of the guards bump against each other with their unarmed sides. They were still mute, but there was a shift of movement between them. Ortho felt an odd pain when he realized they were tightly linking paws. Skipper Jalik grimaced and braced himself at the subdued nature of the crowd, ready to hold out through whatever came next.

"I thought there was no cure here anywhere in Mossflower or Hellgates," Sonor said quietly. Abbess Petranka almost flinched as Farflit's words bit her.

"There wasn't before, Sonor, but you and your situation has pressed us," the Abbess said. She lifted one paw from where it had been resting on her other and gave a soft gesture. "Now we hold most of one."

There was an almost weary look on the Abbess's face only those alongside her could see when Sonor's mouth twitched up in a bitter and sad smile. Ortho felt a spark of something else besides raging anger and worry when he saw her tiredness in playing Sonor's game, of he making her repeat every little rejection and pained order from before.

She hadn't bally _wanted_ this, Ortho thought, forcing himself to go rigid in a military pose to keep from lunging forward and screaming at Sonor for Markus and everything else; the Abbess hadn't _wanted _to condemn him and his damn group to death when the stinking sickness already had, so why the blinking Hellgates was he trying to drag out it and pin it on her? How the hell did he think that would help?

Ortho's paws were shaking at his sides again but Skipper was too preoccupied comforting the upset mouse parents behind him to do anything.

"Imagine that," Sonor said, and for once he didn't sound sardonic, and he and the Abbess were two genuine beasts strained under leadership.

Then there was a snarl and howl as a fight began further back in the woods, the nervous beasts nearby yelping and skittering closer to the armed guards, Milly and Judspike squeaking in panic as their two captors moved around them defensively, the two of Sonor's guards that had been holding paws letting their fingers slip away from each other as they startled with their weapons at ready, and the moment was broken. Sonor tensed and went into a half-crouch with his spear with narrowed eyes before he realized the fight was further away and straightened out again. When he turned back after muttering a few orders to them, his face was hard. The stoat tapped one white claw against his spear.

"We'll meet halfway, Abbess," Sonor said. The bulkier one of his guards with odd symbols scribbled along the wraps on his arms left him to go into the crowd of escorts. Ortho could see him splitting the crowd with his broad frame as he went for Milly and Judspike, the hare catching sight of some of the flashes of ink or dirt along his bare brown legs. "I'll release the cubs to you further down along the path—"

Sonor gestured at a section of the dirt road a fair distance away from Redwall's gates. Everyone on the walltop tensed.

"—and a group of yours can bring out the cure and a written list of ingredients. There will be an exchange. I promise no harm will come to those you send out if you keep your part of the deal, and that the dibbuns are untouched and uninjured."

Far below, Judspike gave a yelp and backpedaled as the bulky guard showed up in front of him, the cellarhog clutching to Milly and one of her dirtied and torn nightgown sleeves. The mousemaid stared up at the guard with wide eyes, transfixed in place through her soft fur bristling. Ortho realized she could see up into the beast's cloak and view his face. So could the cowering Judspike.

The guard turned his head and said something that might've convinced the dibbuns to take a hesitant step forward, but no one could tell since the ferret and wildcat who had been holding them earlier moved behind them and pushed them to him. Judspike gave a tiny squeak when the guard's paw took his and Milly's and began to lead them on. The ferret and wildcat flanked them, cutting a broader swathe through the group than before.

Without warning, Ortho realized that Markus had turned his head to watch them go, relieved, but there was a flicker of terror in his expression and his ears pinned back when the crowd moved to swallow him and his supportive guard. Ortho felt it the same time his brother did.

Sonor had said nothing about freeing Markus.

Skipper had slipped away to go join the exchange party that would go outside the abbey, and Abbess Petranka was unable to stop Ortho from stomping the extra stride to the walltop and yelling, "An' what about Markus?"

Sonor blinked before looking over to Ortho, and the hare stared down the deep brown eyes now focusing on him. There was a shuffle of motion in the back of the crowd, and a startled Markus raised his head when he heard the familiar voice and saw who was leaning over the wall.

"Ortho?"

One of Sonor's ears twitched as he heard Markus's raspy whisper of hope. His mouth was pressed into a twisted line before his eyes flickered back to look at the defiant face of Ortho staring down. Something like a realization passed across the stoat's face.

"Markus will remain with us," Sonor said, rolling his spear over in his paws as he glimpsed the reaction of the other abbeybeasts, "for now. Once we have the cure and distribute it among ourselves to everybeast who needs it, Markus will be set free afterwards, the same as the dibbuns. I hope you understand, Abbess," Sonor said softly, his dark eyes as black as night. "We have been misled far too many times with promises of a cure that's nothing but herbs floating in a fancy vial of water. I don't intend to let it happen to everybeast here again."

Ortho made a choking sound caught between rage and frustration in the back of his throat. Only the Abbess and Skipper remained stoic at the stoat's words and the unspoken implications of what would happen to Markus if the cure didn't work. The two exchanged knowing looks as the other Redwallers behind them turned grim and began to whisper. Ortho took a stiff-legged step back from the walltop side to keep his paw from grabbing at the hilt of Martin's sword and bit back his temper. A few minutes and his brother would be saved; he couldn't ruin everything now.

"…very well, Sonor," the Abbess said, folding her paws together in her sleeves like she was just leading the prayer before the Summer Festival meal. "We will accept your deal."

The stocky guard leading Judspike and Milly, along with their extra accompaniment, made it out to the road. The dibbuns were blinking rapidly under the bright sun over their exposed faces as they were led out to the exchange point, but they began to shiver and whisper excitedly behind the guard's back, and the ferret and wildcat guards tensed and held their weapons at ready as they eyed Redwall's gates and more of the sickbeasts wandering through the trees. At the Abbess's words, Markus was relieved for a split second, face cracking in a smile, but a dead look came over him a second later that made Ortho's heart throb.

Sonor Whiteclaw didn't follow his group to the exchange point, making the Abbess's brows furrow before her face became neutral again. The stoat remained where he was with his two remaining guards sticking close to each other and their leader. When the three beasts and the two dibbun hostages reached the part of the road away from the abbey, all of them looking like nothing but dark colored blurs on the dusty brown path from above, the side gate opened and the Redwallers emerged.

Skipper and Rillford were at the forefront of the group, otter chieftan's shoulders drawn up with pride and his ink crawling over his muscle, and the younger otter followed directly behind him, holding a sealed package with a folded paper tucked under one string and a canteen in his other paw. A mixed group of several of Skipper Jalik's holt and Jaspin's Forest Patrol archers filed out behind them, weapons at the ready and paws cautiously drifting over slings and arrow fletches, and a few other Redwallers of varying species jostled between the otters and squirrels to break the mass of long necks and arched puffy tails.

There was a halting moment as both groups stared each other down. A few more of Sonor's guards had slipped from the trees to join their comrades and even out the numbers. Ortho half wanted to throw himself over the walltop to go join those below, his blood boiling in mad impatience. There were a few fragile moments of peace as the hidden eyes beneath the guards' hoods met with the uncloaked and unclouded those of the Redwallers. Despite all his craning, Ortho couldn't see the expressions on any of their faces.

"Skipper!" Milly burst out, trying to wrench her paw out of the guard's grip, but the dibbun was jerked back from her lurch forward and flopped backwards when she wasn't released. The mousemaid gave a strangled yelp at the fall, scrambling to her feet with tears in her eyes, and any tranquility held was broken as the Redwallers edged towards their arrows and daggers. Sonor's beasts responded instantly by bristling with their weapons.

Behind Ortho, Milly's parents were breathing harder, and then the hare realized that they sounded so loud because they'd come up directly behind him to look over the wall. Her mother was shakily whispering prayers. Below, Markus was staring off into the crowd, trying to see what was going on, but blinded by all the sickbeasts around him. Something rustled in the bushes nearby. Markus's guard tensed.

There was a facedown between the guards outside Redwall, the atmosphere sinking to the temperature of ice, but after one long moment where Ortho was convinced they were all going to drop the blinking pretenses and slaughter each other, the ferret guard stretched out a paw for the cure, gently tugging on Judspike. He did not trip and fall when he stumbled forward with a dazed and uncomprehending face.

Judspike moved forward several wobbling steps, a spikey brown blob against the path, and then he was within the folds of Skipper's group, weeping as he clung to squirrel with greying fur who stroked his face before hefting him into his arms, prickles and all. It was almost enough to set Milly to crying, and Ortho swallowed as the cellarhog behind him watched the whole scene with his wide shoulders shaking, wordless tears pouring down his face. The hedgehog still refused to close his eyes through the tracks of water running over his cheeks. Ortho's eyes were suddenly stinging and Markus looked extra alone and lost in the mob of sickbeasts.

With one cub returned, Rillford relaxed slightly. He passed over the package and folded slip of paper into the paws of the diseased ferretmaid. She took it and immediately snapped back her grip to her chest to hold the package there like someone had shot her in the heart. Milly looked up from where she was still being held and said something to the ferret. Everyone on the walltop missed it, and the less stoic of the Redwaller group below looked confused, but nobeast said a thing about the watery trails trickling from the ferret's open eyes. Neither did any of the guards.

Lazra finally ripped the package from her hold, eyes flitting to Sonor for a moment as if she was going to hoist it aloft to show him, but the ferret passed it off to the wildcat in a jerky motion. She took it. Milly was smiling and wiggling excitedly as the other guard began to loosen his grip on her paw.

"AMBUSH!" Markus's guard yelled, jerking the hare over as he spotted one of the hidden squirrel archers, not so hidden anymore now that a sickbeast had forced him from his hiding place and gotten him spotted, "THE REDWALLERS SET UP AN AMBUSH!"

All Hellgates broke lose.

Skipper lunged forward and tried to tear Milly from the guard's paws, parrying a stab at his ribs with a spear, and a simultaneous scream of pure animal voices went up as the insane sickbeasts were startled all at once. The entire forest around Redwall was turned into a churning mass of bodies and weapons as everyone on the walltop gasped or yelled, and Milly's mother gave a wounded scream as the guard holding her daughter yanked the struggling dibbun up by one arm, dodged a spear thrust at his ribs, and took off into the crowd towards Sonor.

"MIIIILLY!"

Ortho took off down the walltop and leaped down the stairs.

Near the gate, the wildcat holding the cure package shattered the arm of a squirrel archer with her spear as he yelped, the sound of splintering bone filling the air. Rillford ducked and barely avoiding the sharpened medal, and the cat gave a grunt of frustration before Lazra grabbed her and flung her away, the ferret blocking an otter's spear with a crash of metal on metal.

"SEPHIN, RUN!" Lazra screamed, a line of blood beginning to drip from the side of her scraped lips, "GET THE CURE TO SONOR!"

Sephin gave a violent curse before turning tail and fleeing, and Lazra gave an unholy snarl of anger as she threw herself right at the Redwallers trying to pursue the cat. Spear met spear, hit for hit, and the ferret's teeth were bared in rage as she sank them into a yelping squirrel's shoulder, her body still writhing as a mouse slammed a blade between her ribs and twisted. Blood poured down her once white-tinged fur.

The sobbing form of Milly was being dragged through the surging crowd of teeth, claws, and twisting bodies as her guard dodged around the battles being fought between woodlander and vermin alike, he panting as he desperately tried to reach Sonor's retreating form, and the mousemaid gave a scream as her arm was twisted further and something thudded into the ground near her captor's feet. He staggered back to avoid the arrow that had almost kneecapped him.

Yanking up the bleeding and trembling body of an almost dead shrew over his chest was the only thing that kept the next arrow from thudding into his heart. The shrew gurgled and died, a fletch sprouting from his chest. The guard looked up sharply with a snarl, and from a tree above, Makara notched another arrow to her bow and pulled back, her eyes narrowed.

"Drop her," she spat.

Milly gave one wet sob at feeling the dead shrew's body so close, the guard's grip on her wrist crushing it, and then the shrew's body crumpled to the ground and the mousemaid was bowled over when Krosah hit him from the other side like red lightning, his scarred blade out and slashing at the guard's hood. The guard swore and staggered away, clutching at his bleeding face and tearing the worthless scraps of shredded hood from it. All of Krosah's attention was refocused as he watched the tattooed face of an otter come into view, nose cut open and a leaking red slit drawn across its muzzle. Makara cursed and sent an arrow fletch into the back of another diseased beast as Krosah and the otter began to circle each other, both of their fur on end and eyes lit up with murder.

Krosah chattered in rage and flipped Dipper's dagger over his paw, poised to stab into his opponent or drive away the blows from the otter's own now-drawn blade.

"_This_," he snarled, "is for the last time your lot tried takin' family from me!"

Otter and squirrel met in a flurry of slashing blades and screamed battle cries.

Nearby, Milly had stumbled before running into the melee, her little chest heaving as she tumbled over the ground, the mouse only seeing stomping feet, tails blurred in motion, and glassy-eyed bodies staring at the sky with red smeared across them. Slipperiness coated the ground and the smell of death and flayed fur crawled up her nose. The forces of Redwallers had begun to scatter amongst the insane tide of beasts, and screams and writhing and bloodied bodies from both sides were churning over the bushes and tree roots, indistinguishable from each other. Milly put her small form to use and ran for all she worth through the blurry images until a root caught her foot and wrenched it out from under her, sending her tumbling into the scratchy embrace of a bush. A bloom of metal taste came over the dibbun's tongue.

"MARKUS!" she screamed, clawing at the foliage's clingy thorn fingers. The limbs scratched her skin. "MARKUS, HELP ME!"

Back at the sides of Redwall, the gate that had slammed closed when Judspike had been ran back into the abbey were thrown open again for a moment, and Ortho shot out across the road, sword of Martin glinting in the sun before it viciously cleaved through a diseased beast's chest, ripping apart their torso and cloak in a neat swing and roared "EULALIA!" Another corpse joined the ground to add to those already there, and Ortho sliced his way into the crowd, frantically searching for Markus or Sonor and bobbing between opponents, allies, and trees.

As the hare blocked a jab of a dagger at his ribs, cutting off the paw of the assailant and driving Martin's blade into their heart an instant later with their body falling with a fading snarl, he felt a stocky and short back trembling with motion press into his. Ortho looked behind him and almost froze in his crouched pose with surprise.

"Farflit?"

"Keep fightin', hare," the grey fox barked, adjusting the dual blades in his paws and breathing hard as he found another target, his whole body alight with a ferocious energy. Farflit's grey fur was splattered in blood, some of it from jagged cuts scattered across his chest and some of it not. He wielded one of Redwall's armory daggers in one paw, but the curved sword in his blood-soaked left paw definitely wasn't his, and Farflit bared his fangs at the diseased beasts around him, eyes lit up in icy fire as he went into a crouch.

Ortho only took one more look at him before the hare's mouth went into a grim smile, he turning his attention back to the ring of sickbeasts beginning to churn around them.

"On it, sah."

Nearby, two otters with blue circle tattoos were fighting back-to-back, their spears almost interlocking at points as they bludgeoned down the horde around them. Many of Sonor's guards had already gone to wherever their leader was fighting in the mess, the rest locked in lethal combat with Redwallers of all forms and weapons, and the remaining beasts assaulting the rescue team were broken and slobbering animals from the very bottom rung of insanity in Sonor's group. They attacked all that moved.

At the center of the fight with the sickbeasts, Skipper Jalik and Jaspin had teamed up together with several more beasts to carve a path towards where Sonor and his rallied guards were waging war on the Redwallers and anything that attacked them, the stoat desperately trying to hold their place. He could sense the otter chieftain and squirrel archer coming for him, Skipper nothing but a tattooed force of nature as he shattered necks and skulls left and right with a loaded sling, otter's brawny form slipping around opponents and their blows like water as he drove on, half-rotten bodies of the diseased gasping their last on the slippery ground.

Jaspin was even faster, his teeth gritted as he leapt over the shoulders of enemies like they were nothing but stepping-stones, shooting arrows down into their eyes, throats, and hearts before he skipped over their falling bodies to move to another, slashing open jugulars with his wrist blade when it was too close range for a bow. The squirrel and his fellow archers floated over death and the red mist it brought like vengeful wraiths.

Yet they were not the only ones fighting fiercely. Sonor's guards were driven by sheer desperation and broken fear and love, snarling as they blocked the stabs and swings of Redwallers step by step, dying habits red and destroying throats with their whirling blades and swung spears. Their loose cloaks and bandages trailed in the air behind them in curving streaks of black and yellowed white with each one of their dodges and lunges forward. The couple that had been holding paws near Sonor took up a deadly duet, one attacking their foe from the front with a spinning spear, pushing them back with punishing blows into the embrace of their mate's sword driven between spinal disks with a crack and slashed across stomachs to let entrails spill out.

The truly mad beasts were worse than the guards, attacking anybeast and everything with claws and teeth, involving whoever they targeted into a gruesome brawl to the death until either a weapon was driven through them permanently, or they drove their teeth into some screaming beast's throat and ripped it free. It didn't matter if a blade was biting into their ribs over and over or a sling being pounded into their limbs until the marrow was pulp; they would keep biting or tearing into flesh until they were completely snuffed out.

Witnessing everything in a sick blur of motion and sound, Milly laid crying and trembling in a bush barely further back from the fight in a clearing. A raggedly limping form came towards her from the side. Milly shrieked when she saw it coming, clawing at the bush and her caught sleeves, and then her eyes widened through her tears as the limping form went to its knees in front of her. It awkwardly staggered to its feet with a shaking Milly's arms wound around its neck as it held her close, trying to keep its balance.

"M-markus," Milly whimpered.

At the same moment, a wildcat that had been trying to fight her way across the carnage of the battlefield took an arrow to her side, staggering as it tore into the flesh above her hip. She was too unbalanced to stop the mad sickbeast behind her from ripping her shoulder open to the bone and sending the package and crumped slip of paper she'd been carrying to the ground— where it was stomped on by another sickbeast and ground into the dirt. Paper tore and herbs spilled.

Sephin gave a scream of anger and agony and reeled back with her claws unsheathed, lunging forward and tearing through the sickbeast's face with a swipe of talons. It gave a yelp and fell to its knees, clutching at its blinded eyes and the deep red scratches across their glossy surfaces, and Sephin threw herself on it with her fangs bared in a snarl one last time as the other sickbeast nearby gave a feral scream and piled on top of both of them. Flesh ripped and tufts of reddened fur went flying into the air.

Half a battlefield away, Rillford's foot slipped on the red-slicked surface of a dropped spear as he was blocking a punch from a slavering rat, and the otter's face twisted in horror before he went under. The nearby sickbeasts piled on him with screams of joy and wriggling limbs. Rillford's uncle locked in battle several trees away after they'd been separated still had his voice raised in a mournful howl for his nephew when Farflit hacked open the knees of the sickbeast in front of him, slit his throat, and broke formation away from Ortho's back to dive into the writhing mass of beasts covering the fallen otter. The grey fox and his stabbing blades disappeared into a sea of kicking legs, churning pelts, and ripping cloaks.

"_NOOOO!_" Sonor screamed, seeing the last bit of hope that hadn't really existed vanish when Sephin went down with the shredded cure, the wildcat vanishing in a blitz of thrashing bodies she would never emerge from again. Something completely broke in the stoat's face. He was shaking when he took out a mouse Redwaller with a punishing blow across the face, shattering her jaw and teeth. Fragments of bloody enamel flew across the ground.

The stoat had been gradually moving away from the center of the fight, only held there by his determination to wait for Sephin but still being driven back nevertheless, but once she was gone and several of the guards around him gave choking sobs as they fought, Sonor didn't try any longer. One of the guards ceased to fight back entirely. They stood there limply, looking out of place among their still battling compatriots with fluttering cloaks and striking bodies. They took off their hood, revealing the battered and bruised face of a young rabbit, dropped their cloak to the ground, and walked into the battle with spread open arms.

When Sonor watched an arrow take their pulse from their throat with a twang and crumpling of their limbs, he was done.

The brokenness fled from the stoat's eyes to be replaced with rage and pitch black desperation, and he whirled on his heel with his fangs bared, a snarl working its way out of his throat. Sonor raised his spear up with a shaking paw, whipping his head around when he sensed something moving behind him, and too late, the hobbling Markus and Milly realized he was looking at them. Markus froze where he was leaning against a tree with his lamed leg.

"_You,_" Sonor choked out, voice thick with anger and grief. Every bit of the stoat's fur stood on end. His enraged eyes were beginning to flood with tears as he drew his spear back, lithe body preparing to curve with the throw. A delayed Skipper and Jaspin desperately tried to race to that part of the field while fighting their way through the sickbeasts. "I've lost everything— _everything_— but if we're going to lose our families before this ends, THEN SO ARE THEY!" Sonor screamed, more hate in his eyes when he saw the watching crowd on the abbey walltop. He cast the spear. Markus numbly stood where he was with Milly clutching at his chest, unable to move.

_All he needs is a push._

Markus threw Milly out of the way. The inside of his chest exploded like a stomped-on chestnut as the metal spear went right through him.

"_MARKUS!"_ Ortho screamed.

In all the tales Markus had heard of hare heroes, they died quietly and bravely, saying nothing of their pain or howling battle cries. They didn't scream in agonizing pain as they felt the broken shards of glass that was really their ribs splinter everywhere.

Markus could hear Milly screams when his own stopped, high-pitched calls in the melee. The world was a spinning, sickeningly sharp colors and movements blurring into each other, and the most agonizing pain he had ever felt was stabbing its way through his chest over and over again, his very flesh caught on fire inside. The hare trembled, feeling something wet bead on his lips, and he dazedly looked down to stare at the red pouring all over his clothes and the spear sprouting right out of his torso.

Ortho was unstoppable. He had paused in the fight out of shock when his younger brother had appeared in the way of Sonor, and when Markus's piercing scream came over the crowd, he went berserk. Ortho threw himself into the sickened group with a feral rage to rival theirs, hacking and slicing past all in his way. The hare's teeth were gritted in anger and his eyes alight with cold hate. Anything between him and Markus was mowed down as the sword of Martin bit through all in its way, weapon or flesh. The gleam of the champion's blade was drowned in rivulets of blood as Ortho drove into and past the madbeasts with strength unmatched by any, leaving a trail of red and slumped bodies behind him.

Seeing the new path open up, Skipper rallied his beasts around him, wiping away the blood and grime from his cut face. "Foreward, mates!" he roared, spinning his sling. The Redwall defenders loosed their battle cries and tore through the new opening. They tossed the screeching sickbeasts away in the slick butchery and headed right for Milly and the other side, a chorus of 'REDWALL!' booming through their forces.

Markus was still on the ground in pounding anguish, unable to breathe. He gasped for the air, twisted spots beginning to bloom in his vision and his head throbbing, and his _ribs_— a hint of fuzzy blackness encroached around the corners of his sight when he grabbed the spear in him with shaking paws. The red that was soaking his clothes immediately began to make his feebly tugging paws slippery. Get it out, Markus thought, whimpering, he had to get it out.

A diseased mouse from the side turned its head and hissed in triumphant as it spied the fallen Markus. It crouched down with its balding and plucked shoulders squaring, yellowed teeth bared in victory. Markus could only make it out as shifting and blurring shape. Just as it lunged for him with its tattered cloak fluttering, there was a slash of metal, and it hit the floor with crumbs of sod bouncing as it rolled over, its throat down to its waist cleaved open to the bone.

"_Not_ _my little brother_, you damn scum," Ortho snarled. His chest heaved with his words, the hare's fur soaked with blood and dirt as he stood where the mouse had been moments ago, some of it his own and some not. Ortho's paw hung down by his side with an equally stained champion's sword, his eyes shining with vindictive wildness.

Surprise registered in the midst of all the scrambled pain devouring Markus's senses. He tried to struggle like an upended and pinned bug, but his limbs only managed a floppy wave. Markus dimly realized all the red on his paws belonged to him.

"Or— Ortho?" Markus said.

Ortho snapped out of his crazed look when he heard Markus's voice, and when his eyes followed it to its owner, his expression changed completely. A look of pure horror and something else crossed his face. Markus could identify neither of the feelings he saw.

"Oh blinkin' Vulpez, _Markus_," he said. Ortho threw aside the champion's sword like it was a worthless stick. He dropped to his knees and crawled over to his sibling. Markus's paws were still shaking and his eyes glazed a little when Ortho's larger ones wrapped around his, stopping him from trying to pull the spear out.

"It hur— it hurts," Markus whined. His pupils were contracted, one ear lying crookedly on the ground behind him. Through all the pain fogging things up he could dimly feel the rest of the screaming battle raging around him. Markus wanted to tell Ortho to stop acting dumb, to pick up his sword and fight, because he could die. Milly had stopped screaming and began crying. It didn't seem to matter.

"I know; I know it does," Ortho said. He spoke to Markus like he was little again and had scraped his knee. Markus could feel more shaking in their paws as Ortho took one of his away from Markus's and scooted up closer to his younger brother's head. "You need to stop tryin' to pull that out, alright? There'll be a healer here in a minute, an' they don't want you messin' things up more, wot."

Markus didn't know if the shaking in his paws belonged to him or Ortho as he moved Markus's head into his lap. He tried to be soothing, stroking his brother's head and ears like he was just tussling his headfur again, but there was a desperate and trembling shake in all of his strokes. Markus stared up into Ortho's face from his lap. It was suddenly getting harder to see. His ribs shifted like a broken pile of splinters as Markus drew breathes in, the hare taking shuddering breathes that pulled his stomach in too far and lasted too long. All of the screams of the fights seemed to be pushing away from them now.

"Ortho, it's s-stuck," he said lamely. Markus's voice was ragged. "I don't wan— I don't want— _get it out._"

"It's goin' to be out in a minute, I promise," Ortho said. Markus felt another shaky jerk as Ortho petted him again and cradled his head. It sounded like he was trying to keep the calm and commanding voice of their father, but there was a lot of brokenness under it, Markus thought. "There's goin' to be a healer here any blinkin' second— HELP, WE NEED HELP OVER HERE!" Ortho yelled, lifting his head from it was craned down to comfort Markus and screaming into the crowd. Markus didn't know who he was talking to there. There were only blurred smudges on all those beasts instead of faces.

"They're gone," Markus said. "C'mon, Ortho, you know th— they're not here." Ortho looked down sharply at the odd tone in his voice, and he saw the dazed and clouded look in Markus's eyes. The older hare let go of Markus's head and paws to reach down and shake his shoulders, as hard he could do it without hurting him more.

"No! They're not bloody gone, you hear me, Markus? They're right here; we're goin' to get that spear out of your chest in a minute," Ortho said fiercely. "Don't you worry, wot, they're just sew you right back up like they did when you got your ear caught in the door. HELP!" he called, voice reaching a new raw and hoarse pitch. Markus stared up the blurring world above as Ortho jerked his head around to roar at the beasts behind him, "WE NEED HELP AN' A STRETCHER RIGHT NOW! ANYONE! HELP!" He turned back around to begin stroking his brother's head again, pulling him further into his lap and cradling him comfortingly. "You'll be alright, I bloody _promise_ you'll be alright, Markus, you just have to wait a minute—"

Something in the broken mass inside shifted, and just as Markus opened his mouth to speak, a snap of pain shot up his entire inside. He choked as a hot liquid bubbled up this throat and threatened to pour out his nose and mouth. The younger hare's body went into spasms.

"Markus!" Ortho said, locking his arms around Markus to try to keep him from thrashing. Gurgling sobs and breathing were starting to come from his struggling brother. Ortho held him as tight as possible even as he kicked and shook, and Markus saw lots of blurry forms of beasts standing around them but not coming closer, leaving a clear ring of ground. All screaming but his older brother's desperate pleading was distanced and gone. The world had a red tint.

"Markus, _stop_, please bally stop, you'll be alright when the healer gets here," Ortho continued, eyes drowning in their own terrible frenzy and helplessness and voice raw and shaking. He sounded like he was addressing anybeast but Markus; that he'd understood he couldn't order those things to stop and go away. "HELP! GET OVER HERE!" Ortho looked over his shoulder and screamed again, and Markus dully thought that Ortho was being silly, because there was no help here. "SKIPPER, JASPIN, BLOODY ANYONE!"

Markus's body abruptly calmed. His spasms stopped as most of the hot liquid slid back down his throat and nostrils, but not after bubbling out the side of his mouth. Ortho was left gripping him tight even after he'd gone limp.

His ribs didn't hurt so much anymore, Markus thought. The feeling of wetness soaking through his chest and bubbling up from it was starting to disappear. Everything dulled peacefully. The world grew more dark and fuzzy and made the shapes around him a dull that was easy on the eyes. There was a feeling of something being clipped away. Markus's eyelids fluttered and began to drop. This felt better.

Ortho turned back around after yelling for the healer again, and when he saw the glazed look enter Markus's eyes, he immediately bent down and tried to give his brother's shoulders a shake again.

"Oh no you don't," Ortho said, Markus staring up into his face, "you're not goin' _anywhere,_ Markus, you hear me? You're stayin' right _here._" Ortho began to choke at the end of his words.

Markus merely felt the world grow dimmer still. More of the light disappeared, and voices grew distant. Even Ortho's face began to blur to where Markus couldn't make out his features, and his yelling for help and hundreds of other words began to fade out. The world shrunk. The crowd around them no longer existed.

Ortho was screaming something. Markus didn't understand him.

All the voices were muffled, like noise far, far away. Markus felt a detached relief that the pain in his chest was gone. That was all that mattered.

His brother's face finished disappearing. Everything ebbed away, even the feeling of Ortho cradling his head and the spear stuck through his ribs.

Markus descended into the darkness.


	18. Chapter 18

There was nothing but a dizzy, disembodied field of mist in his vision, curling around his numb limbs. He struggled to feel anything. Markus's eyelids fluttered open as his senses slowly returned, but nothing but the dull white and grey mist filled his sight.

After a few minutes that could've been hours, a time Markus wasn't too sure of, the hare managed to struggle up into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes and face, clumsily trying to get up, and when the hare managed to get to his feet and pull his paws away from his face, he stared. A blank rolling hill of nothingness extended forward. Ghostly outlines of what would've been grass blades flickered in out and of existence. Sound that had had none filled his ears.

Swallowing his hesitance, Markus walked forward, turning his head to look at every corner of the warm-feeling nothing that was half-shaped. What was going on? Where was this? He thought, and Markus felt something shiver in him when he felt like he _knew _this place, but he couldn't name it. It was like knowing he was in Redwall but not being sure of the room he was in.

He felt like he should be nervous— was there something he was forgetting? He should be panicking or his bad ear drooping or crying, shouldn't he? Markus thought, confusion hazing the one little part of his mind that cared. Maybe even… be in pain? But he could feel none of those things that were only words and vague stirrings of memory in his head, the young hare only feeling a sense of jarred peacefulness as he continued. The place was just warm and calming in all the nothing.

Markus kept moving, looking around him with wide eyes as he made his way over the soft and half-existent landscape, and somehow, the hare found the quiet warmth of the place drawing him over to an old well. It was the only thing truly solid in the wrap of misty nothingness, built of ancient and roughly hewn stone in a giant circle. Blades of grass that held actual greenness and yellow buttercups grew up around the base. Markus felt them tickle his feet as he gradually approached the well, suddenly feeling like he should go slower. The things in the back of head were trying to gnaw at him again. Had someone been talking to him before he… well, he hadn't left anywhere, had he? Markus thought. He twined his fingers together and fidgeted with them.

Before Markus could take the last few steps closer and lean up to peer into the well, he heard quiet footfalls approaching. The hare jerked away, staring at the beast that was walking out of the nothingness that was there. A strong mouse wearing a green habit strode up to him, a partial smile on his striking face lined with both youth and ages of experience.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to see the gates very well," he said. "You came in far too fast for that. But don't worry; the actual Forest isn't like this. You're in the between." He held out a paw. "Welcome home, Markus."

Markus gave a shaky smile through his shock, his eyes suddenly feeling watery. Distant screams and vague words tried to worm through a crack in the back of his mind as he reached out and shook the mouse's paw.

"I know. Thank you… Martin."

Martin the Warrior smiled.

When Markus released his paw and stepped back, he felt another stab something in his feelings that he couldn't identify, his head pounding and things wriggling through his insides. His fingers fumbled with each other as his throat felt tight. "So… so I'm really…?"

Martin bowed his head and nodded. Markus swallowed hard. He looked away, staring at the almost tangible flowers and bobbing buttercups near the well. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "Well… I suppose I am."

There was a jolt of pain through his ribs and a tingle in his back leg, and Markus was suddenly hit with the memory of screaming and screaming and screaming even if it was on the inside when his mouth wouldn't do it any longer; his ribs were shattering like hot glass pieces even as the pain went everywhere and his leg was trembling on useless fire. The hare clenched his chest and barely kept from doubling over. Martin watched him from a distance with an accustomed sadness as Markus froze, the hare slowly turning around to look at the legs that were holding his bowed-over body up. Both of them were unmarred and whole. Markus bent and wrapped his fingers he hadn't known were shaking around his ankle. Untouched soft fur greeted him instead of a bloody and smashed gap in his tendon.

Martin, noticing his shaking, still stayed back. "Everything heals when you reach the Gates," he said. "It's a good thing, considering that we have more Redwallers coming through every second then I'd like. But it's always this way after a prophecy or siege."

Markus looked up sharply at his words, his face pale. "Wait, did Milly an' Ortho—"

"Milly and Ortho are alive."

Markus took a shuddering inhale, letting go of his leg and slumping onto his knees. "Oh, Martin. Oh bloody Martin, they're alright," he said, wrapping his arms around himself in a tight hug as he stared unfocusedly at the ground, body shaking once more, "they're alright."

Martin said nothing and let him have his moment. Markus stayed down on the ground a while longer, arms tightly wrapped around himself until they ceased their shaking. Eventually, the hare looked up again. His arms loosened and drooped to his sides as he gave Martin a sheepish smile.

"It must be a little odd, hearing your name used as a swear, isn't it?" Markus said. He rubbed the back of his crooked ear and got to his feet, automatically smoothing down his habit and adjusting the belt. Martin watched with a marked quiet sadness again at the hare's little preenings that would have no purpose.

"You're too young to be here. Just like so many others," Martin said. His whiskers twitched, and Markus had the feeling he was holding back a sigh, just like when Ortho upset their mother over something and she pursed her lips and looked away. "I regret that out of all the paths that could be taken, this path was the one set in motion. So much ruin to reach the same end."

Markus felt the empty beat of his now-nonexistent heart pick up for a moment as Martin's words registered. He stared at the warrior mouse in front of him that he'd passed by the likeliness of day after day, sewn in the tapestry, and slight look of regret across Martin's face suddenly filled Markus with the same anger he'd had over Ashtip lying and giving his jilted apology.

"…there were other paths?"

"There are always others. Not necessarily good or right ones. But they're there."

"You knew this was going to happen," Markus said. His fingers began to curl up into fists. "You knew Cluny was going to happen, you knew the Marlfoxes were going to happen, you knew everything else that was going to happen, and _you told Redwall._ But now, with Sonor, you didn't say anythin'. Why? _Why didn't you tell us?!_" Markus said, his voice rising, he seeing Warra Beak being shattered in his head again, smelling blood as the images of falling Redwallers and sickbeasts ran through him.

"Markus—" Martin said.

"You could've saved Warra Beak!" Markus screamed, feeling ghostly tears beginning to well up in his eyes, because he wasn't the only useless liar. "You could've saved Dipper, you could've saved Rillford and Farflit, you could've saved bally Milly and Judspike from seeing that; you could've saved hundreds of all the blinkin' Redwallers who went out there to fight for YOU AND YOUR PRECIOUS ABBEY! You could've saved _me,_" Markus said, voice falling to a shaky whisper. The half-existent world looked blurred.

He was yelling at the original champion of Redwall, the very _founder,_ Markus thought, but it didn't matter. He had nothing to lose. Not anymore.

"Markus, I _tried,_" Martin said, his voice sharp with the warrior's and leader's command that made everybeast in the past and present listen and follow him into the Dark Forest— sometimes literally, Markus thought. Martin held his scarred paws up. "But the ones who would've made a difference by listening couldn't hear, or they wouldn't. Do you think I would leave Redwall to suffer like that? I can't control all Fate and its chosen beasts!"

"Then _why?_" Markus said, taking a step forward. His clenched fists and shivering arms were pushed back behind him, fists clenching harder every moment, and Martin didn't even have the decency to look threatened in the least or to lose even an inch of ground. "They why did you mess up when you COULD choose and bally well picked Ortho in a dream when he wouldn't listen later? _Why did you give him somethin' that would hurt him an' take him further away from me?_"

Markus's voice went shaky and sounded far more like a broken plead at the end, and he hated the way Martin was looking at him, even if he couldn't see the mouse's face through all the bally tears swimming up in his eyes that stung and clouded his vision. His flopped ear was almost hanging by the side of his face at that point, and the hare was struggling to keep down something that sounded like a hiccupping sob in his chest.

"Because after Fate took its course, he WOULD listen," Martin said, ferocity snapping in his final words. Had he sounded like that when he told Tsarminia she was going to die? The warrior recoiled, the perfectly controlled and ancient grief in his eyes again. "But it didn't tell me this was how he would learn."

"This makes no sense," Markus said. He tried to break free from his shrinking voice and the childish hoarseness in it from holding down the sobs rolling inside him. "None. None. You should've been able to change this."

An odd look crossed Martin's face, darkening his handsome features for a moment. "You changed more than I did," he said softly. He spoke almost too quietly to hear. The young hare brought his quivering eyes back up to look at the warrior he couldn't face a second ago.

"Markus, I am not the _ruler_ of the Dark Forest, just another soul in it. I can't control Fate more than you can now— I can just glimpse the end and some of the better paths to be taken and try to guide the abbey and those worthy to it," Martin said. The warrior moved his paws behind his back, they pausing at his sides before they continued on and clasped behind him, restless without a sword to hold. He looked ready to pace. "I can't change the individual actions of a beast that make up the smaller paths to the final end. I didn't know you would purposely stand yourself in front of the spear before you broke one path of Fate to do it, or I would've stopped you!"

A ball of hideous, squirming worms exploded in Markus's stomach as he stared at the restless warrior in front of him. No, he thought, remembering Ortho watching everything. NO.

_All he needs is a push._

The words turned mantra from his mother's letter and years of lectures before echoed mockingly in Markus's head.

The hare paled, suddenly unable to look anywhere at Martin without feeling a sickening burn, and his whole body shifted and fidgeted, unable to stay still.

"I didn't… my leg was cut, I couldn't move!" Markus burst out, gesturing at Martin and frantically looking back and forth from his now whole leg to the area around the warrior's head. The hare's wide eyes couldn't go to Martin's face. "It— it wasn't… not on purpose; I was stuck there, I couldn't… I didn't mean to… not— not at—" Markus swallowed, silencing and staring at the ground again. The hare gazed at the buttercups around the well's edges without really seeing them, his eyes replaying something else. "You said it affected fate?"

"Accidents and purposeful actions bring very different effects on Fate," Martin said, unclasping his paws and letting his arms come back to hang at his sides again. The mouse's ears twitched and jaws tightened ever slightly, an indiscernible shift few would be able to catch. Some unsaid words remained firmly unsaid.

"So you're really just a guardian of Redwall, not the Dark Forest?" Markus said. "You really don't decide what happens?"

"Not all the way, no."

There was a long silence as both of the beasts stood there, motionless and lost in their own thoughts. Martin finally stepped forward and spoke up.

"Warra Beak is alive. Injured, but alive, as are Farflit and Rillford. Would you like to see them or Ortho?"

Markus blinked in surprise before the startled hare immediately sat up straight, his ears going on end at the same time. "I— what? Warra Beak is… Yes! I want to see them; I want to see Ortho!"

The hare wildly looked around, half expecting his brother and the Sparra to come striding out of the mist, both of them with cheeky looks on their faces and their own versions of struts, there to peck it him and rub his head and say, _"Well, what's my bobtailed little brother up to now, wot?"_ or _"Keh, cheer up, hareworm! You okay!" _Nothing came.

Instead of conjuring up something with ethereal sparks like a magician or pulling his companions from the nothingness, Martin walked forward, leaning over the side of the aged well. He gestured for Markus to join him, and the hare scrambled over to get beside the mouse. Markus felt the rough edges of the stones pushed up against him and nipping into his fingers as he peered over the side. The hare drew gave a sharp gasp at the perfect pool of water below and what the endless bottom of the well seemed to contain, Markus leaning in as far as possible with only his toes brushing against the grass, his eyes fixed on the scene playing out and the hare looking as if he wanted to dive into what the water was showing him.

The gates of Redwall were open, but there was no parade of victory coming through them. No cheers welcomed the beasts back that didn't immediately echo into nothing or fade into groans or sobs of dismay. Redwallers of all species were streaming through the gates, some limping in with bloodied faces and limbs, weapons dangling from their paws, and others were being rushed in on stretchers bared by Skipper's holt and other volunteers that could walk.

More than half those on the stretchers were torn and beaten victims with obliterated parts of their faces or stretches of pelts on their body that were nothing but ripped strings of muscles and fur shreds, and Markus shuddered to see them. The clean and untainted habits of those who'd stayed inside the abbey were mixing with the torn and grimy clothes of those who'd gone out to fight. Those that could embraced their returned companions and family with tears running down their faces, disregarding the blood and froth splattered over their loved ones, and the dirtiness of the battle spread. The green lawn of the abbey was turning as red as the battlefield outside, Markus thought, feeling sick.

As cries of relief and grief filled the courtyard, one line of borne stretchers was heading for the infirmary— and the other towards the graveyard. Smudged red footprints trailed over the grounds.

There was a particularly big swell of sound and movement in the main gate entrance, and as Markus saw Missus Ruae help Abbess Petranka to the center of the abbey grounds, Skipper and Jaspin came in, followed by another group.

Skipper and Jaspin were still walking, though the squirrel moved with a decided limp, and the otter had a makeshift bandage created from the Forest Patrol captain's sash over his left shoulder. Both were raw and cut. Their heads were bowed.

Three otters and another beast marched in behind them, carrying a stretcher, and too late, Miss Jessy— who'd been helping a wounded Miss Makara and Mister Krosah come in— saw who was on the stretcher. She froze before her eyes widened into huge brown orbs, even for being magnified behind her glasses lenses, and the mouse's paws flew up to her mouth before she gave a small scream. Makara and Krosah turned to comfort her and ended up staring in horror at the same stretcher as it passed by. Jessy was mouthing something over and over behind her paws as tears started flowing out of her eyes. Markus still couldn't see who they were staring at, and then the crowd cleared aside for them.

Pain stabbed through his chest again and his leg gave a violent burst of agony as Markus saw himself laid out on the stretcher. His paws flew down to grab his ribs as he doubled over the side of the well, letting out a shaking breath. Martin gave him a look of concern but did nothing when Markus shook his head at him, prying his paws from himself as the aftershock faded.

He had never imagined seeing himself dead, Markus thought. It was surreal. His eyes were closed and his arms lay out by his sides, nothing signaling the sheer agony he'd been in before his insides had finished breaking and his spirit had leaked out, and somebeast had wiped most of the blood from the side of his mouth. The bandage and wound Sonor had given him were still there on his motionless lamed leg, stained and sloppy, and there was a cloak laid over his chest to cover the gaping hole. Markus was hit with something nearly jealousy as he stared at his husk's face. He looked… peaceful.

All of Markus's thoughts immediately died like his body when he saw who was lifting his stretcher. In the very front left was Ortho, leading the march into the abbey and bearing most of the weight of his brother.

If the silent otters behind him were grieving, then Ortho was grief itself. The sheathed sword of Martin hung from his waist, looking as unmarred and untouchable as usual, and Ortho seemed to be buckling under it and the stretcher. He moved with a complete disregard for his injuries, ignoring the various cuts, lacerations, and growing bruises all over his limbs as he stepped forward, leaving a dripping trail of red behind him from a cut foot, and the hare's eyes stared hollowly ahead as they made their way towards where the other bodies were being laid. Grime on his face and underneath his eyes made it look like he hadn't slept for the past ten seasons. He was immune to all the tears and cries of pain around him as they saw Markus and other deadbeasts.

Markus almost clawed at the water to get to Ortho as they marched on, and only Martin's firm paw on his shoulder stopped him. "Don't," he said. "You'll only ruin the image, and if you try talking to him now, he won't hear you. If he does, he'll think it's part of his grief and delusion. Us wounded warriors… we have tendency to ignore what we're hearing in this state. Especially if it's from those that we've lost." Martin watched Markus achingly pull back his grip and force himself away from the water, the hare's regained restraint cracking as he struggled to glue it back together. Martin's face was weighed with a heavy knowledge as he watched.

Ortho and the otters disappeared from the vision of the well, and Markus was unsure of whether it was due to the well's sight being limited or that it was taking some unseen cues from him and Martin. He didn't have to wait too long for an empty-pawed Ortho and the otters to come trudging back up the gentle slope that lead to the graveyard as if it was one of Salamandastron's mountainsides. Ortho made it to the side of the courtyard before he spotted the Abbess. He stopped to stare at her.

The Abbess and Ruae only caught sight of Ortho due to a few strangled whispers coming from a nervous vole behind them, and the two turned to look at him. They froze. Ruae gave Ortho a look between pity and a dark, dark understanding, but she was held back from heading him off by the Abbess's outstretched paw. Ruae gave Ortho another odd look and stepped away from the Abbess after the aged mouse whispered something to her. The old otter melted into the crowd.

Abbess Petranka and Ortho stared each other down across the conveniently cleared grounds. All of the Redwallers were giving Ortho a dangerously wide berth, and several fidgeted and twisted in discomfort as Ortho began to stride towards the Abbess, who stood there with her arms held by her sides, as aged and dignified as one of Redwall's turrets. She didn't flinch as his strides grew in length and viciousness, and Markus stared down at them in rapt worry. He'd never seen Ortho this way, never ever before, and what if he did something to the Abbess? What could he do? Too much was gone; he couldn't—

Ortho violently strode over to Abbess Petranka. He stopped less than a foot short of her. The much taller hare stared down the shorter mouse below him, Abbess Petrank's silvery head tipped up to look him in the eyes. Ortho took one more step to close the remaining distance, dropped to his knees, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face into her habit and sobbed. The sword of Martin clattered against the ground from the drop.

Markus stared open-mouthed as in the middle of the Hellgates brought to Redwall, directly in the eye of the maelstrom of death and injury that covered the abbey lawns, the Champion of Redwall fell to his knees with his arms around the Abbess and cried. Ortho's whole body was shaking, his ears quivering as they folded back over his head, and Abbess Petranka wrapped her frail arms around his back, unheeding of his blood smearing over her robes and holding him closer as he clenched fistfuls of her habit and buried his face deeper into it as he wept. Compared to Ortho, she was tiny— almost a doll— yet he had fallen before her, and she was comforting him as if he was a huge cub in her arms, smoothing down his ears and muttering soothing things to him like a mother would. The tension in the crowd that had built around Ortho's approach towards the Abbess shattered into something else.

"Oh, Ortho," Markus whispered, his fingers trembling as tears ran down the lengths of his whiskers. They dripped into the surface of the well and disturbed the image with their ripples. "Oh, _Ortho._"

Markus pulled away from the well when the projection became too disturbed to watch. He buried his face in his paws and cried wrenching, shaking sobs over the well with tears pouring between his fingers until he couldn't cry anymore. When there was nothing left, the hare cleared away the tears from his face with the back of his paws. Forget the handkerchiefs; he blinking well wasn't going to use one today. He felt nobeast by his side, and Markus looked back to see Martin standing aloof a few feet away, giving him a large amount of space and looking away into the nothingness of the rest of the place. He looked lonely in the mist. Markus gave him a sad grin as he sniffed, finishing clearing away the remaining tears from his face as he glanced down at the disturbed well image and saw fractures of Ortho crying and kneeling before the Abbess.

"I didn't know I was going to do it until it happened," Markus said, his voice drawing Martin to look at him again. The hare's cleared face was filled with a sad pensiveness he saw the fractures his tears had created in the vision slowly clear. The aftermath of his burst of grief had turned him into a weary, heavy kind of calm. "I… I didn't want to hurt Ortho or end up like this, but I couldn't think of anything else. Not to save Milly or fix things after this was over," Markus confessed.

Martin rejoined Markus's side, watching the well image repair itself as the ripples faded. Some of the Redwallers had broken from the crowd around them, and a trickle of green habits was beginning to break through the ring of isolated space the Abbess and Ortho had created during their stare-down.

"Markus, the loss of a loved one is a powerful thing," Martin said quietly. "It can make a warrior strengthened by grief to go on to be a better warrior than before— or it can cause them to descend into hatred and ruthlessness for their revenge." Martin's eyes briefly clouded with memories and old emotion, but it slipped from his vision as he looked at Markus again. "Where do you think Ortho will emerge?"

Markus looked down into the well, the last ripples having finally cleared. Ortho still had his arms around the Abbess, continuing to cry, but the movement in the crowd around them had increased into a tidal wave, and abbeybeast after abbeybeast in both habits whole and those torn by injury and trial were gathering around them, reaching out paws of sympathy and grief to hold to both the Abbess and Ortho.

As Markus watched, he could see the blurry shapes of Makara and Krosah joining them in the far back with their arms around each other's waists, Skipper Jalik and Jaspin guiding the injured to the infirmary and still barking out orders in the background, a battered Dipper leaning on Lillen for support as he watched from one of the door arches out of the way, the dark face of Ashtip peering from a distant upper window with his shivering forehead pressed against the glass, and the fragile form of Jessy pushing aside all the beasts in front of her to come right to the forefront and throw her arms around both the Abbess and Ortho to cry with them.

Markus smiled through the tears pricking at his eyes again.

"He'll be fine. He has all of them."

Both hare and mouse were broken out of their revelations over the well when they felt a ripple of movement behind them and heard a few soft footsteps. They pulled away from the image to turn and see another beast in the nothingness with them. He was walking hesitantly, each step careful and flinching, and he gazed all over the nothingness and calm ethereal background with something akin to fear. He looked like Ashtip when his guard was broken, Markus thought, or a little cub that was walking on a rotten log he wasn't quite sure of the sturdiness of.

Markus and Martin waited for him to approach, standing there patiently as he made it over to them. Once he saw their faces, he stopped where he was, staying on the edge of the more solidified grass and flowers that covered the distant ring of space around the well.

"I shouldn't… I shouldn't be here," he said, staring at the soft grass and flowers and leaning away from them like it was a beautiful hallucination that would burn him and shatter if touched. Markus left the well and Martin's side to walk over to him. The hare reached out a paw from the more formed and colored side of the nothingness. He kept it there until a larger and sleeker paw slowly took his, white claws curling around his fingers.

Markus smiled at him with moist eyes.

"Welcome home, Sonor."

The hare tugged the stoat onto the softer part of the grass.

* * *

_A.N.: After this chapter, there will only be one more to cover the Redwall perspective on things, unless I do an epilogue. I'd be fine with ending it on the next chapter unless any readers would like otherwise. The epilogue isn't necessary for wrapping the story up, but I'll add it on if enough people would like to see it. Answer in a review if you would— epilogue, or no epilogue? The choice depends on the readers._

_One last chapter, and the main course of this tale comes to an end. Thank you all for sticking through it with me._

_-SL_


	19. Chapter 19

Aftermaths of disasters didn't clear up immediately, and Makara knew the Abbess and Lillen needed much more help the day after the battle, and Jessy a shoulder to cry on, but she needed to be alone. Just for a few minutes.

Makara took a deep breath, leaning her head back on the wall and feeling the cool brick against it and her ears. The empty dorm room she was in and the sunlight filtering through one of the windows felt like more of a fresh breath of air than the actual outside. Makara glanced over the deserted beds around the one she was sitting on. Some were neatly made with tucked-in covers and all, every pillow aligned, and others had lopsided blankets and wrinkles over their surfaces, their pillows thrown here and there. Pain unexpectedly throbbed up a line to Makara's heart when she looked at the carefully folded blankets, and she quickly looked away. Her claws dug into her legs.

She'd closed the door to the hallway. There was no point in coming inside to catch a breather if she could hear the injured beasts sobbing within or being chauffeured up the stairs to the overflowing infirmary, Makara thought. She wrenched one of her paws away to lay it on her cheek. Krosah had given her a brief hug after they'd helped a lamed vole into Redwall and Makara had said she needed to rest for a few moments. He'd still been battered and exhausted from his duel with the tattooed otter and a day's worth of helping others, and Makara had felt the tender spots on his arms and growing scrapes as he'd hugged her.

Her own arms were starting to ache from yesterday's effort of leaping tree-to-tree and firing off one arrow after another, and Makara could feel the familiar shift in her muscle that meant endless soreness later.

She'd still managed to get them around Krosah and hugged him back, both of the squirrels holding each other tighter than they needed to with their fingers practically digging into their backs and a shaky reassurance in everything, and Krosah had momentarily pressed the side of his face against hers and took a shuddering breath that she felt against her neck. It had been the sound of a muted falling to pieces and something else.

Makara had pressed her face back into his for the few long precious moments before they'd broken apart and she'd left for the inside. She could feel the warmth he'd left on her long after she'd made it to the empty dormitory.

There was a stinging in her face, Makara realizing that she was pressing her fingers into her bruised cheek far too hard and her grip trembling slightly, and the squirrelmaid quickly pulled her touch away. She wrapped her knees around her legs again, sinking further down against the bed's headboard. Her tail was bristling against her will.

Was this was how it was going to be for the rest of the season? Death and pain everywhere? And Markus; Markus was gone for the rest of this season and every season after that until Mossflower itself crumbled, Makara thought, and he might as well have taken Ortho with him, seeing what currently remained of the older hare.

Just as Makara found herself staring intently at her scuffed knees for no reason, there was a soft knock on the door. She looked up to see Ruae's face peering through a crack. The older otter came into the dormitory, gently shutting the door behind her. Makara moved to make room for her to sit on the foot of the bed.

"Thought I'd find ye up here," Ruae said. Makara flicked at a shallow cut on her knee.

"I needed some quiet time. Just for a few minutes," Makara said. It sounded like she was admitting something. Ruae grimaced as she settled onto the bed more, her arthritis nipping at her back. Makara looked up at her. "How are Bodeen, Varina, and Nugg?"

"Survivin'," Ruae said. "Bodeen's lookin' after Nugg. Varina's in the infirmary bein' patched up. I'm pretty sure tis only a spear wound, though. Compared t' the lot other beasts drew, they're doin' pretty well."

"That's good to hear," Makara said softly. Not all beasts who'd entered the battle were walking out. Especially a few who hadn't wished to ever be in a battle at all.

There were a few long moments, Makara staring at her knees and Ruae just sitting on the foot of the bed, neither of them really looking at anything. The afternoon light filtering through the dormitory cast a peaceful sunbeam over the beds and worn stone floor, as if it was just another summer day at Redwall. The squirrelmaid's eyes began to sting.

Makara began to cry as Ruae leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her.

"Damnit, Ruae, so many are _dead_," Makara said, voice shaking as she hugged the otter's bony back. Ruae squeezed her shoulders, bowing her long neck to push her silvery face against Makara. "It's not just Dipper scarred anymore; not just Markus gone—"

"I know," Ruae said, rocking her back and forth, and Makara felt dampness on her neck as Ruae pulled her head back to look Makara in the face. The otter's eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "I know, Makara, I know."

"He was too young to die," Makara whispered. She could see the hare's youthful face in her mind, both giving a coy smile as someone broke into his studies, and staring up at the sky with glazed eyes and blood running out the corner of his mouth, a spear sprouting from his crushed chest. "He didn't deserve that. Nobeast _deserved_ that." Makara's claws sank deeper in Ruae's back. The otter said nothing, holding her closer. "If I could've checked on him earlier before he left; if Krosah and I were faster and got there before he tried to go on that stupid rescue mission with Warra Beak—"

"Don't ye DARE start this, Makara," Ruae growled. She let go of the squirrelmaid's shoulders and grabbed her face, wrenching it up to look at her. Makara stared at the fierce look in Ruae's eyes. "Playin' the blame game is like havin' a lyin' contest with an adder; doesn't matter what's true, yore still goin' t' get bit regardless. Ye are far too strong t' start this act 'o tossin' guilt ont' yoreself when ye had nothin' t' do with it. We already have Ortho wantin' t' throw himself off the abbey wall; ye are _not _goin' t' join him, ye hear me?"

Makara was speechless, struggling to get something out as she and Ruae looked at each other, and another surge of tears moved out of her eyes and soaked her lashes into black clumps. Her paws slumped and moved to grip Ruae's shoulders. Grey fur stuck out from between her fingers.

"How do you deal with this?" Makara said, desperately trying to find the answers in Ruae's face. "How do you keep together with so many you know dead or worse? Ruae, I can't even feel my legs and register half my thoughts right now; but Markus has been dead for less than a day, and I can already feel so much _hurt._ How does something ache so damn _badly _so fast? How do I make this go away to keep myself sane?"

Ruae looked at her with deep, sorrowful eyes, and she give Makara a joyless half-smile, shaking her head. Makara could see the tears building in the elderly otter's eyes now.

"Ye can't. Never. Makara, when I lost Cubert ten seasons ago, I thought someone had came along an' ripped a hole in my chest. I couldn't do anythin' t' fight the pain, an' I wondered what in pikesteeth's name I'd done to get Hellgates pulled up on earth for me," Ruae said. Makara could feel her webbed fingers holding her jawline, and clear trails of tears were running down the otter's aged face as youth and elder looked at each other and cried. "I tried blamin' the healer who took care of him, I tried blamin' Cubert for not holdin' on longer, I tried blamin' the disease that took him, an' I tried blamin' meself. Nothin' worked. All it did was make the pain worse, an' I floated in it for seasons afore I figured out what I should be doin'."

Ruae squeezed Makara's face.

"Some things just happen that are nobeast's fault— only Fate's. Ye can't blame anyone for it, an' ye have t' accept that an' move on. Will it get rid 'o the pain? No. Ye'll be feelin' that for the rest of yore life. The hole made in ye by lost loved ones will never heal over an' it'll never leave. But the others around ye an' time will help it stop festerin'," Ruae said. "An' slowly, the hole left in ye will get a little smaller."

Makara couldn't make out Ruae's expressions too well through her blurred vision, but there was a look of positive fondness on the other beast's face through the sadness and tears as she looked Makara over, and the squirrelmaid moved her paws from Ruae's shoulders and threw her arms around the otter again. Ruae released her face to hug her back. This time, Makara couldn't feel any of the stiff desperateness that had been in their motions before, and she closed her eyes and felt the creaky but strong arms of Ruae around her.

"Ruae?" she said.

"What?" Ruae asked, opening one eye to peer at Makara.

"Thank you. For everything."

Makara could feel the otter smiling into her shoulder.

* * *

Since no there was nowhere else to go, and he thought he'd break the bloody window out of any room he was in if he saw even a single scroll or writing desk, Ortho was on the walltop.

He leaned over the edge that faced Redwall's inner courtyard, arms stiff as they lay on the protective wall, and he couldn't force his head to lie down on top of them. Ortho supposed he should've been tired. He hadn't slept any last night. It didn't matter. Not really blinking mattered now.

Ortho watched the buzzing movements of activity around Redwall's arches and doors. Everybeast looked small and clumsy in their habits and bandages; any limps or leaning on others they did made them seem like bally little warped ants in green smudges.

As the hare watched, one figure broke away from the others to go greet an approaching mouse, they using a crutch because they were heavily limping like their leg was lamed, and Ortho was suddenly reminded of a bandage tied around another lamed lag and he had to look away and press his shaking forehead into the walltop stone to make the heaving pain in his chest stop. The sword of Martin clattered against the rock with his sudden shift— the Abbess hadn't bothered to take it away— and Ortho stared down at the sword hanging from his waist.

"_I— you were really picked? You're not joking? You were REALLY picked? I… I… oh Martin, you…"_

"_Wait a bally moment, Markus, are you cryin'? I didn't know I looked that jolly scary wearin' the sword, wot!"_

"_N-no! I'm not c-cryin'! I'm just so h-happy! You got picked! You got picked! I have to go send a letter to mother an' father; I have to go tell Miss Jessy an' Ashtip—"_

Ortho reached down and drew an inch of the sword's blade. It seemed to shine, even in the muted shadow. He'd wiped Sonor's blood from it minutes after he'd hunted the stoat down and killed him. Sonor had stood with his shoulders drawn back in the remaining scrap of dignity he had and let the hare cleave him open from his stomach to his right shoulder, his white claws fumbling at his pouring wound and going red before he hit the ground.

Any savage triumph Ortho had felt had died as Sonor's breathe had leaked out of his throat. There was that blasted emptiness— and no one in the Long Patrol had told him how to deal with _that, _Ortho thought, eying Martin's blade with disgust and anger as he dropped it back into its sheath. No one felt empty when they killed a salt-slicked corsair; no one felt empty when they avenged someone close they'd lost on a campaign; no one felt empty when they killed the blinking enemy. They weren't bloody _supposed _to.

But it didn't feel like he'd been killing Sonor for Markus. Remembering the stoat's dead and grateful eyes even before the metal slashed through him, Ortho felt like he'd been killing Sonor for someone else entirely. And disgust and grieving humiliation crawled up his spine, fighting against other things, when he thought of doing that somebeast else a favor.

There was a clicking of metal as Ortho partially unbuttoned the sword belt. He grabbed Martin's sword and pulled it along until it was almost off his waist. Almost. One more tug and fraction of unbuckling, and it would be. He'd throw the whole blinking worthless thing off the walltop, sheath and all, Ortho thought, glaring at it. It'd be easy. Like chucking a rotten stick.

"_What? But Ortho, why— you promised the Abbess you wouldn't do that. You took the Champion's oath. You CAN'T do that. Please."_

Ortho could hear Markus's pleading in his head as he stared at the sword hanging from the belt. There was a long silence, even with only him on the walltop. The beasts below on the courtyard were starting to move restlessly.

"Damnit," Ortho growled. He jerked the belt back to its original tightness, the metal buckle giving a snap as it was roughly yanked and closed against, and Ortho shoved the sword back to where it belonged. He closed one paw in a fist and slammed it down on the walltop hard enough to make his bones ache. "_Damnit._"

There was a quiet padding of footsteps along the stone. Ortho saw a flash of dark brown fur in the corner of his eyes. He crossed his arms over the edge of the walltop, muscles tensed, and ignored it, staring out at the remaining beasts that were chattering around the entrance. The one with the limp was gone.

Ortho didn't bother to turn his head or so much as flick his ears until he felt the darker beast lingering behind him, refusing to come closer. He clenched his paws.

"What do you want, Ashtip?"

Ashtip flinched at the sound of his name, shuffling his feet over the stone. He was hunched and worn, all of fur frazzled and on end, and the tiniest motion earned a flick from his paranoid eyes and a shiver of his muscles. His tail looked as puckered and plucked as when Ortho had tied the chimes to it several long days ago. Ashtip's eyes were hollow, sunken into dark sockets, and they were swollen and reddened from crying. He licked his lips.

"Think you know that already. Not like it'll 'elp. 'O that it'll brin' 'im…" Ashtip stopped, swallowing and looking down at the floor. A shudder ran through his body as he held his arms closer to him.

Ortho said nothing. He watched a squirrel with their arm in a sling explain something to another who perfectly clean and unhurt— whole— and they hesitated before shaking their head, slowly coming towards their hurt companion like they were a mirage. Halfway through, they broke as the other squirrel tried to awkwardly raise both of their arms and pointed at a bandage on their shoulder. The unhurt squirrel flinched like they'd been socked in the belly before lunging forward, desperately throwing their arms around the other squirrel's neck and quivering as they embraced. Both of the woodlanders' tails arched like bristling and trembling plumes behind them.

Bitten, Ortho thought. Just like bloody Sonor and every other sickbeasts. He'd seen enough of that embrace to know what it meant; it was the opposite of the way Varina and Bodeen had held each other in the hallway, their arms tightly twined around each other and faces pressed together, complete and utter relief and love in Bodeen's eyes when he looked at the bandaged wound on Varina's waist. It had only been a spear wound. Nothing else.

When Ortho had seen them, he'd cut around another hall to leave the abbey. If he passed by, they'd break apart and stare at him like everyone else did, that pity in their eyes and that deep awkward silence that made him unable to look at anyone, watching him as if he was blinking broken worm below them who they could stare sadly at all they wanted. Most of the injured beasts were in the infirmary and the rooms around it, many volunteering Redwallers staying up there to help them, but there were plenty more wandering the halls and doing their best to chip in and help with the abbey's other chores, and Ortho couldn't avoid them and their gazes.

He couldn't stand being inside damned Redwall another _second _with one beast after another waddling up and telling him how so, so sorry they were that Markus was—

"You still have the sword," Ashtip said quietly. His exhausted eyes moved to glance at Ortho's bloodied and scraped knuckles. Something darkened in his face with a weary understanding. "Get attached ta it durin' the battle?"

Ortho said nothing. His eyes finally went to Ashtip for a few split seconds. Ashtip looked ready to cringe in his spot, something in his spine flinching, but he refused to look away or back off despite his bristling tail and a subtle trembling in his legs. There was a small surge of movement in the courtyard.

"You an' Skipper's an' Jaspin's group killed a lot of sickbeasts," Ashtip said. He leaned forward like a snake craning its head. "An' 'ey killed plenty of Redwallers. Oh, there's dead; there's dead _everywhere, _but 'ey lost, even if both sides paid for it. The remainin' sickbeasts are broken an' useless. They took what was left of 'em out of 'ere ta die somewhere. 'ey din't have anythin' left 'o nowhere ta go. Worthless when you look at it, aren't 'ey?"

Ashtip gave a shudder, his mismatched eyes glazed as they saw something else, but they snapped back to reality as he fixed them on Ortho. His fur rose as he took another stealthy step forward. "'ey're part of the lost, Ortho. So are the deadbeasts on both sides. You want ta 'ear about the lost? You know who else is lost?"

"Shut up," Ortho said, turning half around to glare at Ashtip. One of his arms was still on the walltop edge. Ashtip licked a dark puncture on his cut lip, staring at Ortho the same way he had before he'd broken down in the archive, but there was a fierce mockery in his eyes at the same time.

"I know plenty about losin'. Do you? Do you know 'ow ta lose some'un? Ever lost 'un of your family?" Ashtip looked at him with cruel amusement and false curiosity. If the pine marten didn't appear on the verge of crying at the same time, Ortho felt that his clenched fists would buried in the other beast's jaw instead of at his side. His scraped knuckles ached, and Ortho could feel himself starting to shake, chest beginning to heave slightly.

"I've lost some'un, before," Ashtip said. "A younger siblin'. Do you know what that _feels _like, Ortho?" Ashtip said, voice a near desperate snarl as he glared at Ortho, the pine marten straining to stay where he was as Ortho shifted. His body and mind were pitted against each other. "Do you know what it feels like ta lose a younger siblin'? Let me tell you. Let me tell you what it's like to be completely useless an' slowly realize that 'ey're gone, ta feel that hole in your chest when you realize that 'ey are never, NEVER comin' back—"

"SHUT UP!" Ortho roared, whirling away from the walltop. Ashtip immediately skittered backwards at the motion, cringing and yelping with eyes widened in fear, but the pine marten kept his quivering mess of a body from fleeing further. He was half-crouching and on the verge of getting to all fours and running, but a line of hardness buried in his face kept him in place. Ortho loomed over him a few feet away, chest heaving as he stared down at Ashtip.

"I know. I damn well know. I already _know _I screwed up an' got my younger brother killed because I failed, wot," Ortho said, gesturing violently and leaning in closer to a quietly whimpering and snarling Ashtip, "I know he is bally NEVER comin' back, I _know _Markus is gone, AN' I DON'T NEED YOU TO TELL ME HOW MUCH IT _HURTS!_" Ortho screamed.

There was dead silence between them other than their heavy breathing as Ortho and Ashtip glared at each other, one on the floor and the other standing over him. Something clung to the edges of their eyes that weren't tears brought on by fury. Complete raw grief and anger were on display in both of them. Ashtip looked almost startled at the look on Ortho's face, but his expression disappeared in seconds.

Ortho took a shuddering breath, slowly stepping back. Half of the strain in Ashtip's body disappeared and he slumped, looking at the hare with worrying eyes as Ortho backed away. For a moment, the marten leaned forward, small and vulnerable as he tentatively reached a paw out as if he was going to touch Ortho, eyes filled something close to regret, and then the fragile moment was broken as the hare took a quick step back. Ashtip flinched as if Ortho had kicked him in the face. The reaching movement turned into a flinching gesture made with his paw. The pine marten jerked away.

"You're a right proper protective brother now, en't you?" Ashtip whispered. Ortho looked at him sharply again as the marten stared up from his near-kneel on the stone. Ashtip hatefully pulled himself to his feet. Part of his eyes were glazed in remembrance, but Ortho could feel their focus on him far too well. "'ow thoughtful of you, ta become 'un after the beast who needed that out of you is gone."

Ortho laughed bitterly, putting one paw to his forehead and ignoring Ashtip's uncomfortable expression and gaze on him. He raked his claws over his head and bared his teeth at the marten in a stretched smile.

"So, is this what you were talkin' about before, wot? 'If you fail, you're going to have to deal with me'?" Ortho raised his eyebrows and leaned challengingly towards Ashtip, who was seeing something twisted and broken in the hare's face that he didn't like. Ashtip pulled back with his arms drawn up near his chest. He didn't look as quite as confident in hatred as before.

"You're not goin' to fight me, an' you're not goin' to retaliate, wot; you're just goin' to keep remindin' me how I messed up with Markus over an' over an' blasted OVER. Can you keep that up, Ashtip? Can you?" Ortho said, tilting his head in a vicious imitation of a curiosity. Ashtip struggled not to wither. Only memories of screaming, sobbing, and claws tearing at the back of a head and shoulders kept Ortho from jamming his face right up into the marten's. "Because you can try, wot. But I blinkin' guarantee you that you want _NOTHIN' _of what I'm made of right now," Ortho snarled.

He and Ashtip stood frozen where they were, glaring and repeating the scene that had transpired between Ortho and Farflit and the Abbess and Sonor several days ago when the world had seemed a brighter and simpler place, and neither hare nor marten knew what to do with themselves. Just as Ashtip made a move to say something, there was a swell of uneasy whispering and movement down in the courtyard. There was a flicker of habits and cloaks moving.

"Bally garterguts, now what?" Ortho growled, turning from Ashtip to lean over the wall. The pine marten hung back, nervously skittering over to a spot a few feet from Ortho to peer at the activity below.

Where the two embracing squirrels and the other limping beast had previously been, a group of Redwallers had formed, beginning to move towards the side gate. More than one had traveling cloaks on, their faces covered by their habit hoods hanging over them, and the whole gathering moved at a lurching pace. Bandages, stitches peeking from sleeves, and splits were scattered throughout the crowd's bodies. One short beast in front led them along with a hood draped over his face. None of the abbeybeasts gathered and sluggishly pushing along looked uninjured.

Ortho frowned, brows furrowing at the sight, and Ashtip squeezed himself up against the walltop edge to keep from brushing against Ortho when the hare turned to stalk down the stone. The pine marten trailed after him with hollow and wide eyes.

By the time Ortho had made it down the stairs and strode out across the courtyard, Ashtip slipping out of the stairwell to follow him, the group was crossing the last gentle slope towards the gate. Ortho planted himself right in front of the peak to intercept them, setting his jaw and watching as some of the beasts slowed and stumbled when they saw him. They hesitated and hung back with uneasy whispers. Their leader didn't miss a stride and continued on through his stumbling limp. Ortho bit back the pain at seeing the all-too-familiar movements.

_In the middle of the crowd of sickbeasts and bodies draped with cloaks and bandages and filled with uncertainty and enough desperation to make the whole group smell of terror, he lifted his head in surprise to hear the familiar voice. His crooked ear drooped and his lamed leg twitched as it tried to adjust._

"_Ortho?"_

The ragged crowd looked on the verge of falling apart as they approached the gate with Ortho in their way, hesitating further when they saw Ashtip lingering nearby, but they remained together as the determination of the beast taking point steeled them. Ortho waited for them to approach. The leading abbeybeast finally came to a stop a few feet before the hare. It looked up to stare defiantly at him.

"What's goin' on?" Ortho said, looking them over. "What're you all doin'?"

"Exercisin' our right to come an' go as we please out of Redwall," a hoarse voice spoke up. Ortho's sharp gaze fell apart as the familiar tone startled him. The lead beast pulled down their hood.

"_Farflit?_" Ortho said, staring. Ashtip sucked in a whimpering breath of air.

The grey fox met his eyes straight on without twitching, ignoring Ashtip. Ortho tried to keep himself from gawking in horror at the fellow fighter he'd lost track of after he'd dove into the mass of sickbeasts after Rillford. A taller figure behind the fox winced, pulling their cloak closer to them with one paw.

"Who else?" Farflit said.

The grey fox was walking, but that was as far as Ortho could compliment his state of health. Farflit had never been whole or handsome to start with. Ortho didn't know what that made him now.

His face— unlike Dipper's— was complete, in that he'd had nothing torn off, but it was far from unscathed. A mottled bruise had swollen up the side of one of his eyes, making it permanently narrowed like a snake's slit eyes. It was only one of many. The old crooked scars that had been across the side of his thick jaw and mouth were slashed open again in rough red tracks. Farflit's whole face was a mess of red fractures and teeth punctures; the fox's visage had been broken, and he was a shattered plate that had been glued back together with every crack showing. Stitches crawled out of his skin at every corner. Ortho couldn't even see his throat through the sea of hazy bandages wrapped around it. He didn't think the fox's body was much better than his face.

"Blinkin' Hellgates," Ortho said hollowly. He leaned towards the fox, purpose forgotten as his paw drifted down to uncomfortably grip the sword hilt at his waist. "I lost sight of you when you went after Rillford, wot; I couldn't get over to you two again, an' after... How did you even bleedin' get out of there?"

"Luck," Farflit said sardonically. He would've spat out the side of his mouth if the raw scrapes and scars around it and his own exhaustion hadn't restrained him. The beast behind him fidgeted nervously. Ortho glanced at them, ready to ask his next question to Farflit, but the face beneath the hood answered him. The hare struggled to swallow and raised his paw in a lazy wave.

"Hey, Rillford."

The hooded beast looked up from their slightly dipped position. He mimicked Ortho and gave a light wave. Two blood-streaked gaps rested between several of his fingers instead of webbing.

"'ello, Ortho."

When he released the half of his cloak to wave, it drifted aside. The broken remains of a blue circle tattoo peered out from a clump of bandages. One sleeve of the cloak hung emptily by his side.

Ortho tore his eyes from Rillford as the otter pulled his cloak over his shoulder again. Through all the faceless and lumpy traveling clothes and cloaks, he could spot sections of green habits and familiar faces, all of them marred with bandages and a weary fear and exhaustion. Some clung close to each other; others stood alone and kept their companions away and heads down. Look at them from a distance, and they'd be just like Sonor's lot, Ortho thought. A shudder ran down his spine. He stepped closer to Farflit.

"What are you bally doin'? ALL of you?" Ortho demanded, looking from the fox to everybeast behind him. "You should be back in the infirmary or somewhere close by; don't tell me you managed to escape from Lillen. She'll be blinkin' tiffed."

Some of the gathered beasts shuffled their feet nervously and muttered things under their breath. Others looked ashamedly at the ground. Farflit and several more refused to avert their eyes and stared right back at Ortho. The hare felt some anger bubbling in his chest, but it was tempered with fear. This was jolly well unnatural. They were going to tell him what the Hellgates was going on, or he was going to MAKE them tell him, Ortho thought, his fingers twitching as he remembered Markus's distraught and suspicious behavior before he'd left him alone in their room.

"Well?" Ortho snapped, turning on Farflit. The fox shifted his weight from his limping leg. The bandages and splints around it seemed to creak and barely support it. Ortho noticed raw bald spots along part of his arm where fur had been ripped out and skin torn.

"We've already been to Lillen's," Farflit said coldly. He looked just as detached and unemotional as he'd been on the walltop. Ortho resisted the urge to parrot his words back at him and make his stinking calmness break. "There's no more help she can give us. Yer in the way, like always. Move."

"What do you mean, 'there's no more help she can give us', wot?" Ortho said. He gestured towards the abbey, irritation and fear buried in his chest making him aggressive. Several of the beasts behind Farflit squirmed in discomfort. "Unless you've managed to waltz up to Lillen an' magically get part of the cure she's makin' more of from her, wot, then there's plenty of bally help left for her to give you. Are you sayin' your leg an' face usually look like that, Farflit, or am I jolly well missin' something?"

Ashtip was cringing from something behind Ortho, tilting his head to stare at the Redwallers behind Farflit, but the hare couldn't see the expression on his face. He clenched one of his fists and felt the raw skin over his knuckles scrape when Farflit turned the same arrogant and coldly dismissive look against him that he always did, as if Ortho was a stupid little cub who'd wondered into the wrong place, and it was time for him to shut up and let the smart beasts talk. It was another version of all the pitying looks the grieving Redwallers gave whenever they spotted him. He bloody _hated_ it.

Something changed in his own expression, though Ortho had no idea what it was, and some of the uppity and condescending air dropped away from Farflit. His eyes flicked over the hare and studied him, his swollen eye slowing in its movements. The side of the fox's scarred mouth twitched. Ortho felt scrutinized like a map of a battlefield under a general's eyes.

"An' what makes you think Lillen's cure will work, hare?" Farflit said.

"Why the bally Hellgates wouldn't it?" Ortho shot back. "Lillen an' Jessy know what they're doin'—"

"—an' they know you can't make a cure to an ancient disease in two days. Your little cure is useless," Farflit said. He bared part of his fangs at Ortho, the remaining tuffs of fur he had bristling in clumps. "Open yer eyes, Ortho. The White Madness has been lurkin' around Mossflower an' killin' beasts off for hundreds of seasons, uncured. Do you think no 'un tried to cure it? That Lillen an' Jessy are the first to try, an' they've got it in 'un round?"

Ortho hesitated too long before answering, and Farflit made a sound of resigned disgust. His eyes were hooded in bruises and exhaustion.

"That still gives you no reason to leave, wot," Ortho protested, stiffening his posture and drawing himself up so Farflit knew he wouldn't be getting out of the way. "What are you goin' to _do _with everyone else out there? Nothin'? There's nowhere for any of you to go if you believe the bleedin' cure won't work!"

Farflit paused. One of his paws drifted to his side. "I'm not leadin' them. Once we get out there, we're separated an' done. I don't know what they're goin' to do. But I know what I am."

Farflit looked off towards another side gate not blocked by Ortho, face distant, and Ortho saw his paw resting on a dagger hilt. He was missing his little finger. The remaining four curled around the hilt.

Ortho felt a jolt run through him when he saw the dead and accepting expression on Farflit's face.

"You don't have to do this— I won't bally LET any of you do this!" Ortho growled, crouching. "There are others bitten stayin' in here with no problem; for Vulpez's sake, even DIPPER is stayin' in here with no problem! Why can't you stop bein' stupid an' do the same damn thing?"

The hare's paw lunged down to draw the sword of Martin, but he stopped as he almost grabbed it, hesitating when he saw the flat look on Farflit's face and the hovering of the other Redwallers. Desperation filled him. What could he do to stop them with a stinking sword? How would that keep them uninjured and put them back, especially Farflit? If he drew the sword and the fox didn't back off and just—

At the look on Ortho's face and his torn hesitation, Farflit gave a harsh laugh. He grinned bitterly at the hare, showing the points of his teeth and stretching the red scars across his face grotesquely.

"You should know why, Ortho. You were trained at Salamandastron. Did they not teach you about ruthless calculus? Or did you ignore the lesson an' assume you could save every'un?" Farflit said, arching his eyebrows. It was a dying and humorless imitation of the fox's usual expression. "Yer childish. Eliminate the lesser to save the greater: that's ruthless calculus. An' if no 'un else is smart enough to realize that you need to use it when it comes to the Madness, then at least I can dull part of the bite of damnation Redwall's got comin' for keepin' sickbeasts in by leadin' this group out. It'll raise the survival level."

"You're not answerin' me about Dipper," Ortho said fiercely, pushing his shoulders back and trying to seize anything he could as a victory.

Farflit snorted, wincing afterwards at how the action jarred his new wounds. There was an odd mixture of something between disappointment and disgust— and maybe regret? Ortho thought with surprise— on his face, and the hare didn't know whether Farflit was directing it at Dipper or himself.

"Dipper is a coward in denial who'd stick to his life no matter what," Farflit said. "He knows he's got the Madness, but he'll keep remainin' in that infirmary an' clutching to a senseless belief till he goes insane an' kills every'un. That animal knows nothin' about sacrificin' for somethin' bigger." For a brief moment, the fox's eyes lost their hard sheen in the same way they did when looking at Jessy. The emotionless quickly returned.

"I don't know why you're sayin' 'senseless belief.' Where I'm from, wot, everybeast else usually calls it 'hope,'" Ortho said. "I think everyone still up in the infirmary jolly well calls it that too."

Farflit was silenced for a moment. The Redwallers behind him looked further unsettled, but they weren't backing away yet, and Ortho could feel every sting of desperation and anger at everything rolling over in him. Was that blinking it? Was he going to fail and lose again? He didn't damn well think so. Ortho strode right up into Farflit's face, making the fox bristle and give a growl as he took one step back.

"You're not goin' to leave. You're goin' to stay in Redwall right here, wot, until they give _all _of you the cure. An' you are NOT doin' anythin' else, without OR without that bleedin' dagger." Ortho tilted his head to look Farflit straight in the eye.

"We just had this discussion, hare," Farflit growled. "The cure is—"

"Maybe worth somethin', an' you're goin' to lead a bunch of beasts out to their deaths without tryin' it?" Ortho said. He had to lean his head down to meet Farflit's height, but the cold ferocity in the fox's eyes was no weaker than the one in Ortho's. "Don't knock till you've tried it, wot. An' isn't it against that ruthless calculus of yours to do somethin' that'd weaken the stronger? Isn't that what takin' yourselves from your families is goin' to do?" Ortho demanded, straightening and looking over Farflit to sweep his gaze over the crowd behind him. "What, Rillford, you think your uncle is goin' to be chipper when you peel out? Think the Abbess is goin' to feel blinkin' wonderful for losin' all of you?"

"Makin' them feel wonderful isn't the point; savin' them _is_!" Farflit spat. Some of the solid conviction was gone from his voice, but he still refused to move, despite feeling the tremors and cracks in the determination behind him that mirrored the state of his face and body. He almost looked desperate. "An' what if the cure doesn't work, Ortho? What if we listen to you an' stay an' the cure doesn't work, an' Redwall sees more slaughter at our teeth? What will you do then with more corpses than you've already caused on your paws, _Champion_?" Farflit said, narrowing his eyes when he Ortho's jaws set. "Save the rest of the abbey like your last rescue attempt went?"

If Ashtip's words hadn't already ripped open the fresh wound and prepared him for the pain, Ortho knew he would've snapped and gone berserk right there. As it was, he took a long breath from between his teeth, inhaling deeply an attempt to restrain himself. Markus wouldn't want this, he told himself over and over, substituting it for that bally ridiculous 'count to ten' gimmick one of his teachers had told him; Markus wouldn't want this; Markus wouldn't want this.

"No," he said hoarsely. He drew up to his full height. "I'd have caused it by askin' more to stay, wot. We'd all see it comin'… an' I'd stop it an' take care of all of you before it happened."

"You wouldn't have the guts," Farflit said quietly. Ortho didn't miss the grim interest in his eyes.

"My younger brother is dead, Farflit," Ortho said. He could feel the lines of exhaustion and grief underneath his sleepless eyes. Ortho waved a paw towards the abbey. "I'm not goin' to do somethin' that'll lose more lives."

Farflit watched him silently for another few moments, judging something, and Ortho stood his ground as he did. There was a brief second where they locked eyes, Ortho tensing slightly at something he saw in the fox's expression, but then it broke, and the other beast turned away. The awkward truce they'd built stayed whole in the air with all of its fragility. Farflit began to limp away through the already drifting apart group.

"I'll keep you to your word, hare," Farflit said, glancing back at him out of his swollen eye. The fox's voice was hoarse and gravelly from the wounds he'd received on his throat. "Or else. For every'un else's sake."

The group of Redwallers had already been fracturing, but they were completely dissolved by the time Farflit turned to limp across the courtyard. Most of the abbeybeasts were heading back to the infirmary, some throwing back the hoods from their faces and letting themselves feel the sun again as they did. Ortho received more than one hesitant 'thank you' his way, though none of the Redwallers felt confident enough to come directly up to him and say it. Some just gave him a nod and less than two seconds of eye contact before they turned their backs and left. Ortho was left to watch them head back into Redwall's doors.

Ashtip made a quiet sound in the back of his throat and came closer to Ortho. The pine marten had melted into the background when the confrontation with Farflit had arisen, but now he was finally stepping forward. More lucidness hung in his dual-colored eyes than before. It only made the shadows underneath them seem darker.

"So what're you doin' now?" Ashtip said quietly. Ortho didn't turn to look at him, the hare still watching the retreating Redwallers. "Playin' champion?"

"I'm not _playin'_ it, Ashtip," Ortho said. He could see one of the slower mice letting their friend tug them through one of the doorways by their paw. "Not anymore."

Ashtip snorted, a twisted half-laugh catching in his throat. "Really? I think you listened ta Markus describin' you too long, Ortho— when you wanted ta 'ear what 'e was sayin'. That's just the thin' with younger siblin's. 'ey're convinced you can do anythin', no matter what. That you kin give 'em whatever they want an' save 'em from anythin'," Ashtip said, part of his vision distant and his voice laced with old pain, "even when you kin't, an' you're not even half of the beast 'ey think you are."

The pine marten turned his bitter, haunted eyes on Ortho, floating between past and present before his gaze solidified.

"You think you kin be Champion just because Markus believed you could?" Ashtip said, feeble shade of mockery blunted by the uneasy way his eyes were flicking back and forth and his body was twitching like he wanted to curl up in a ball. "'e's _gone, _an' no 'un 'ere has the same blindness towards you that 'e did. You kin't step inta his dream of you bein' Champion even if you wanted ta."

Ashtip cringed back as Ortho turned around, one of his paws resting on the sword hilt. The hare stared down at him, broad shoulders pushed back and fire in his eyes. In the distance, someone began to call for him.

Ortho leaned closer to Ashtip.

"_Watch me._"

Ortho turned and began to head for the door, still standing tall with a paw on the sword at his waist. After a few torn moments, Ashtip skittered after him, eyes darting nervously and fur frayed.

* * *

Below, in the Dark Forest, Markus rubbed his face with one of his sleeves to keep his tears from falling into the well he was leaning over and ruining the image.

"I will, Ortho," he whispered. "I will."


	20. Epilogue

An entry from the records of Redwall Abbey

_Summer of the White Madness_

_Recorded by Ragweed Churchmouse_

_There have been very few seasons so packed with enough activity and notable events that their suggested names are changed long before their end, without the ceremony to go with them. This is one of those seasons. The Summer of the Dried Ivy is no longer that. Instead, we are in the remainder of The Summer of the White Madness._

_As I write, Redwall Abbey is recovering from the aftermath of a tragedy that nobeast saw coming, least of all not us. We have lost far more beasts to invading warlords and vicious foes in the past, but this event has left us all with scars that seem far deeper and harder to reason away than those caused by greed and war. An account needs to be written down— every word— and after I go to join Jessy and the other recorders in the Gatehouse, that's exactly what we'll do… though we'll be feeling a heavy loss from one particular scholar who will be absent._

_But that tale deserves to be left to its own pages, and I digress. As Rillford says, "Get ont' the story!" Rillford himself is easily one of the cheeriest otters I have ever met, with or without one arm, and out of our suffering and the ashes of the victims, he serves as a glowing example of recovery. If his resilience surprised anyone, they received twice as great a shock when they discovered who one of his main supporters and encouragers was besides his uncle: a certain blunt-voiced and verbal grey fox!_

_Farflit's tongue is no less sharp than usual, and his restriction to crutches for the season being after Lillen decided he needed them has only made it sharper, but its edge serves as a perverse sense of encouragement for Rillford and all who are tough-skinned enough to listen. Martin knows he can certainly be sweeter, something his constant comforting of Jessy in the past days has proved, but Rillford laughs it off. All of the otter's attempts to cartwheel or summersault usually end with him splayed out across the grass in a tangle of his rudder and remaining limbs—only a shadow of his agility before— but he brings laughter to us, something we desperately need, especially after Markus's funeral and the mass burial._

_My heart was literally breaking when we had to bury so many of our brothers and sisters the day after the disaster with the sickbeasts, and I know I wasn't the only one. Poor Ortho! Our Champion is somewhere between shattered and standing tall, and nobeast is sure where. He spoke a short eulogy for his brother after the Abbess, but he was silent for the rest of the funeral, and while he was misty-eyed, he had none of the pouring tears the rest of us did. I think he was literally too broken to cry._

_As one might expect, the funeral was… difficult. Tears and handkerchiefs were exchanged aplenty, and good memories were shared in the aftermath of everything as we lost our friends and family a second time. Some things can never be replaced, and loved ones are the greatest loss of all. The service was actually halted for a minute or two in the middle so Skipper and Jessy could escort Ashtip away to calm down, and he almost had a triggering on top of his tears and sobs. He's the only one who's been hit as hard as Ortho, and though they've had an odd truce and companionship since the end of the fight, the hare refused to look at him at the funeral. I feel sorrow for them both, especially Ortho. The fact that the burial of our brave fallen Redwallers was placed back-to-back with another didn't help him any._

_For those abbeybeasts not able to be present, did you know? Markus and our other fallen were not the only ones predominantly buried that day— on top of everyone else we have lost, we also put the remains of Sonor Whiteclaw to rest. He and Lazra the ferret were buried on our grounds, Lazra next to the squirrel companion she lost on our walls, and Sonor amongst the center of the Redwallers themselves. Ortho was furious when he learned about it, and he and Abbess Petranka had a shouting match in the middle of the Great Hall. He finally relented when he discovered Sonor wasn't going to be buried right next to Markus, but he refused to attend that part of the funeral._

_The rest of us who remained kept vigil throughout the funeral and paid Sonor the same respect as any Redwaller. He was brave and desperate, taking up the mantle of leader when nobeast else could, Abbess Petranka said, and if he were not pitted against us by misfortune and Fate, he would've easily made one of the fiercest Redwallers of us all. It only seemed fitting that he be laid to rest among us, even if the words of kindness spoken over his grave by many were limited. As Dipper simply put it, "He was a good foe."_

_Recently, Dipper has been asked to say much more than he would care to. Ever since the aftermath of the battle, we have far more scarred and crippled beasts than before, and many are unsure of how to show themselves to the world again and recover. Lillen is ever helpful— working every day to get them back into shape— but some injuries will never fully heal or fade. Dipper provides immense encouraging in this case; though he's never stopped to offer words of comfort or the like, he's been scarred as badly or worse as any, and he's determined to be an active member of Redwall again if it kills him… or Lillen does. (If he rips open another line of stitches trying to lift firewood with Skipper's holt, then there's no doubt the shrewmaid is going to get him faster than anything in the Dark Forest is capable of.)_

_Most of the bandages on his face haven't come off yet, but he's hardly a pretty or whole sight, and the weasel wears all of his scars openly with a fierce sort of pride. His complete disregard for what others see in carved into him makes others scarred similarly bolder, and beasts who probably wouldn't show themselves for seasons are walking the halls and trying to help others recover. Dipper is uncomfortable with being looked to as a role model of any sort, but he deals with it the best he can, for the sake of himself and others who need the confidence he has and they don't. Abbess Petranka says she's going to have an important conversation with him in the future. What it'll be about remains between Dipper and the Abbess._

_Warra Beak the Sparra is another far more shameless and unusual source of leadership in Redwall of late. The sparrow insisted on wearing an eye-patch once he saw the white birthmark over Lillen's eye, confusing it with Ortho's previous comments about a monocle, and now a bizarre combination of pirate and bird lurks in the infirmary. His healing broken wing keeps him from leaving, and he and Lillen make a formidable force there, both of their forceful personalities and loud voices helping to subdue any unwilling patients into doing what's best for them. I think the shrewmaid is happy to have found another infirmary companion who's unafraid of blood and getting himself dirty in the effort to cure others— something Jessy says she's quite happy to let Warra Beak take the role of! _

_All the same, the bright little Sparra hasn't been himself since he learned Markus was killed. He falls into a sour melancholy whenever anything distantly related to the hare is mentioned, something no amount of candied chestnuts will draw him out of. He's gotten it into his head that if he had paid better attention in Sonor's camp or managed to kill the stoat during his and Markus's failed rescue mission, then nothing bad that occurred would've happened, and Markus would still be alive. _

_As ridiculous as this belief is, and as much as he's told it wasn't his fault by Makara, Jessy, Lillen, and generally anybeast who speaks to him, he firmly sticks to his bias, and nothing will change his mind. Ruae says he merely needs time to heal and clear his head. No amount of words will mend a fractured heart, especially if someone as stubborn as Warra doesn't want it to be mended. Some things are only patched by the passing seasons and nothing else._

_On a brighter side of things, there are some abbeybeasts whose hearts are doing a lot more than healing. Makara and Krosah in particular have gotten close, and if they continue the next two or three seasons at the same rate they're going now, Redwall may be ringing bells and having a feast for an entirely different reason than a festival. The Abbess and I like the thought of having a reason to celebrate. Despite the tragedy everywhere, we have triumphed in our own separate ways. Judspike Jr. and Sr. had a touching reunion after the battle that was enough to melt the hardest of hearts, as did Milly and her parents, and Lillen and Jessy successfully distributed the cure to all those bitten, with much joyful weeping alongside it._

_There have been a few adverse side effects here and there, and certain beasts worry if the cure has truly worked, but most of us look at this situation with hope in our hearts. Even as I finish up this page, there are Sparra messengers flying to Salamandastron, Castle Floret, Noonvale, and Sampetra with written copies of the cure we stayed up from dusk till dawn to write. From there, others will copy the cure and send it out, until the whole of Mossflower knows the White Madness is curable. We are Redwall; our voices will never be silenced— and we will not let history with another Sonor repeat itself. Never again._

_Redwall has been hurt. There's no doubt of that. Our wounds run deep, and in more than flesh, as Ashtip can testify. But like our Champion, we are grieving and injured, not defeated. We are always damaged after a warlord, disease, or tragedy comes to our gates. And we always bandage ourselves and pick ourselves off the ground and rise to our feet again and again. Redwall has never fallen, and it never will, as long as our spirits remain._

_I am Ragweed Churchmouse. I am a Redwaller. And THIS time, I say— and mean it with more determination than ever— that our gates are always open to all._

—_end of record_

* * *

Discarded, crumpled, and unsent letters found from the room of Ortho Sagebrush, current Champion of Redwall:

_Dear mother_

Discarded.

_Dear mom,_

_I have to_

Discarded.

_Dear mother,_

_Something happened to Markus. I can't_

Discarded.

_Dear mother,_

_Markus is _

Discarded.

_markus is gone Markus is gone Markus is gone Markus is gone MARKUS IS GONE MARKUS IS GONE __**MARKUS IS GONE**_—remainder is illegible—

Discarded and torn into pieces.

_Dear moth—_

Discarded.

_Dear father,_

_I'm sorry. _

_About a lot of things. That made you look, right? I know you probably want to throw this into the nearest fire or put it back in its envelope but I need you to read the rest of this. I'm not just saying sorry about why I left to get your attention, but it's part of it._

_Something happened to Markus. Something happened to all of us. I don't know if you got the note that went with the Sparra to Salamandastron or if you're even back there from your campaign. But Redwall was caught by surprise. We didn't know what was going on until everything had gotten sucked into it so far we couldn't do anything, not even the Abbess. Part of it was my fault, but a lot of it wasn't, and I need you to know that. You're probably shaking your bally head or crumpling this up now because it's always my fault, but I mean it this time. I messed up and now I'm sorry. _

_I mean that, too._

_I can't talk to mother about this, not in a letter. I know you're both busy with patrols and the roads to the abbey are going to be blocked by the time fall and winter arrive, but I need you both here at Redwall. I have to explain. I'm not a writer and I can't just write down everything that happened here and send it. It'd take too much paper, and I was never good at that kind of thing. If somebeast's going to write about it, they're going to have to do it right, and I can't. But I can tell you. Someone has to._

_I don't know if the Abbess said this in the letter or not, but I'm Champion again. I wasn't for a little while when the Abbess took away the sword (__father I can see your vein throbbing calm down)__ but since she gave it back, it's been mine. (I told you there's a lot I have to explain.) _

_It's… a bit different than it was before. There's lots of responsibilities and other beasts I have to care for now. I don't think I've had this much work to do or felt this way before. But sometimes things happen that change your mind. Ragweed says I need to start signing off my letters with the title so I can practice for when I have to write letters to other leaders. I don't feel like a leader, since the Abbess is here, but I might as well do it. _

_Better late than bally never._

_Sincerely,_

_Ortho Sagebrush, Champion of Redwall_

Sent.

* * *

_A.N: And so, Push comes to an end. This is the third large story I've ever completed, and I have to I feel both a little sad and happy that's over. I've finished, but the big part of the character's lives I'll be writing is officially gone._

_A long overdue oneshot I promised to write chapters ago is now finally written and posted. Guest, the Ortho v. Ashtip writing is finally finished, and when I see you around this area of the writing world again, you can find it at s/8959350/1/Balanced, the first chapter._

_It was another amazing writing experience to go through Push, and I want to thank everyone who's been reading and reviewing this beast all the way through. Silent or not, all of you motivated me, though I owe special thanks to those who raised their voices for giving me extra encouragement and critique. You know who you all are._

_Until the next story,_

_-SL_


End file.
